


We All Go Down Together

by stinathewicked



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Idiots in Love, Jealous Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Pining, Possessive Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:20:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22827046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stinathewicked/pseuds/stinathewicked
Summary: After the events of the quest for the dragon, Jaskier is traveling alone. Missing the witcher, but refusing to give in to the need to seek him out. His friend. In his stubborness he has lost his music. Geralt finds the bard, and enlists his help for a job to slay a monstrous King. In doing so forcing Jaskier to take a deeper look on why he was really so upset the witcher left in the first place. As for Geralt...well...he was always fond of his bard.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 53
Kudos: 328





	1. Her Sweet Kiss

Chapter 1: Her Sweet Kiss

Thinking back on it, he should have known it would have ended the way it had. Geralt had put up with a lot from him. He listened to him whine. He saved him from being castrated by nobles. He even took care to feed and water him along the trail. That being said, he definitely still liked Roach more. Though, he thought he might at least be growing on him. ...An inkling...a smidge. At the very least he considered the fact that Geralt may at least not hate him anymore. 

They had entered into an almost civil arrangement. Geralt would let him tag along for weeks sometimes before they were separated. They even threw their coin together and shared rooms from time to time. Those times, Jaskier could admit how satisfying it was to help the witcher with his bath. He thought they were friends, but then she had come and ruined everything. 

Yennefer, that hair in the back of your throat. That papercut smeared with citrus. It was her fault. If he hadn’t had her, if he hadn’t fallen in love with her, what had happened up on that mountain would have never occurred. Geralt had been a lot of things to him before, but he had never been that cruel. 

Every time he closed his eyes he could still hear the words echoing around in his brain, he could still see those enraged yellow irises. He had hated him in that moment. Geralt had well and truly hated him. Now he was well and truly alone. 

Sure he had fans.

Sure he had fame. 

But he didn’t have his short tempered, arrogant, surly, crazy gorgeous, witcher. 

Not to say he also wasn’t into the fairer sex, but there was just something enthralling about a man who could rip apart a striga with his bare hands. Utterly terrifying, piss your trousers inducing, but enthralling. 

It had been six months since he had seen him. In the back of his mind, Jaskier had been sure Geralt would have come after him. He was positive he would have stopped him. Apologized. Shown even the slightest gesture so that Jaskier could have come crawling back. He hadn’t though. He was probably balls deep in his sexy and terrifying sorcerous to ever even give him a second thought. 

He had been thinking of him though. He had been dreaming of the witcher, but he hadn’t been singing of him. He didn’t know if the words had gotten caught in his throat like the Djinn, but he couldn’t bring himself to strum a single cord to help his friend’s notoriety. It wasn’t bitterness, though he felt plenty bitter towards what had happened. It was that every time he started to sing, he remembered how happy he had been to be by Geralt’s side, and how he would never be again. It was pathetic really. He needed to dig himself out of this slump. Moping didn’t get him a warm bed to sleep in after all. Plus, his taste in clothes was expensive. 

Jaskier downed the last of the pint of ale, feeling more maudlin than drunk at this point as his fingers strummed along the lute. Had Geralt escaped the massacre by Nilfgaard? Had he found his child surprise? Was Yennefer currently warming his bed as they traveled to their next great adventure? 

“This is just sad,” Jaskier mumbled to himself, slipping out of the booth as he stumbled out to take a piss. He was humming to himself as he got to the back alley, pulling himself out of his trousers. “I’m weak my love…” he sang, “And I am wanting. If this is the path I must trudge. I welcome my sentence…” 

“I give you my penance,” were the words spoken behind him, and Jaskier startled, spinning as urine shot in a spray. 

Jaskier’s mouth dropped open in both shock and horror as he realized Geralt was standing behind him. Their eyes met, before Geralt looked down in disgust at his now wet leather pants. The bard could do nothing but stare with his cock still clasped in his hand as he realized exactly what had happened. “Did I just piss on you?” 

“Hmm,” Geralt agreed, mouth set in a hard line. “I’ve had worse on me, however, not really the kind of greeting I had in mind.” 

“What?” Jaskier questioned, tucking himself back into his trousers. “Thought I would spit in your face instead?” 

Geralt arched a brow in thought. “Something like that,” he agreed. 

Jaskier looked around, eyes wide as he tried to wrap his mind around the fact that Geralt of Rivia, his White Wolf, was standing in front of him after all this time. Not only that, but… “Did you quote my song?” His mouth was hanging open slightly at that thought, nervous pride swarming in his belly along with the week old bread and flat ale. 

“I do listen to you sometimes,” Geralt managed. “It’s hard not to, what with you never shutting up.” 

Jaskier almost smiled wantonly at that, missing the familiar jibes almost more than he could bear. Then he remembered that they weren’t playful. Geralt meant every word. “I apologize for my brashness. Luckily, I’m not your problem anymore.” 

“Jaskier,” Geralt began placatingly, causing the bard to glare at the dismissive tone.

“What?” Jaskier bit back, realizing he was a bit drunker than he had let on. “Think that just because I pissed on you, I forgot how you pissed on me? I’m all of the bad things in your life, Geralt. Your wonderful life!” 

Geralt hummed in his throat, looking away, and Jaskier was more than a little aware of the acrid smell now coming from him. “Nothing to say for yourself?” he continued, having more than a little bottled up anger. “You don’t have to, I suppose. That’s the beauty of being so stoic and mysterious.” 

“Are you done?” Geralt questioned, tilting his head as he watched him. 

“So done,” Jaskier wholeheartedly agreed, going to push passed him to head back into the pub. He would never admit the relief that went through him when Geralt grabbed his elbow before letting him pass. 

“Wait,” Geralt murmured, hand a vice on his arm. “I need your help.” 

“My help?” Jaskier questioned distrustfully, noticing how the grip on his arm hadn’t lessened a bit. 

“Do you see any other loud mouthed bards around?” the witcher questioned. 

“Could probably find one for you,” he suggested, not believing Geralt had come all this way not to apologize, or because he missed him, but because he needed his help. 

“Hmm,” the White Wolf managed. “Think I’ll stick with the one I already have.” 

“Fond of him, are you?” Jaskier questioned with an arched brow, noticing the way that strong grip tightened even further. 

“Could say that,” Geralt agreed. “Except I haven’t gotten him housebroken quite yet.” 

Jaskier felt his cheeks redden as his eyes were focused on the droplets dripping down onto Geralt’s muddy boots. “I’m sorry I peed on you.” 

“I’m sorry about a lot of things,” Geralt managed in a gruff voice, causing the bard’s neck to snap up at an almost painful quickness. 

“Did you just apologize to me?” he hated the eagerness that suddenly filled his tone, as if begging the witcher to say yes. To make the emptiness go away. To bring back his music. 

Yellow eyes looked away in annoyance, that perfectly sculpted jaw set in a hard line. “Let’s get a drink.” 

“I’ve had enough,” the bard denied, not wanting to give in quite so easily after he had spent the last six months in miserable desolation. 

“One more.” He motioned back towards the entrance. “Never known you to turn down free drink.” 

“Never known you to buy,” Jaskier shot right back, not fighting as he was pulled towards the pub, and back into the thrum of noise. He allowed himself to drown in it as he was pulled back towards the booth, still not able to believe Geralt had come after all this time. He had come to ask him a favor. 

The noise quieted down as he sank into the booth, glancing around at all the curious faces with their eyes on his witcher. “Forgot how you really know how to kill the mood.” 

“Hmm,” Geralt murmured, grabbing for the pitcher that was set in front of them and pouring two cups. “Your fault.” 

“Isn’t everything?” Jaskier questioned, but he knew what Geralt meant. You couldn’t travel the countryside anymore without hearing about the White Wolf. He hoped it helped Geralt to find work, for he sure hadn’t managed to help him with anything else in his life. 

The witcher sighed heavily, grabbing for the ale as he downed it within a few drinks. “The job—it pays well.” 

“Doubtful it pays enough,” Jaskier assured him. “Given the cost.” 

“Cost?” Geralt questioned with a raised brow, pouring a second glass. 

Jaskier hesitated, not wanting to get into it when his friend had just come for his help. He hadn’t come for him. Despite how much he may have wanted him to. “How’s your witch?” 

A frown crossed that perfectly formed face, and Jaskier almost felt guilty for the jab. “Yen?” 

...The guilt faded exponentially at hearing that pet name leave his mouth in such a longing tone. 

“Do you have more than one witch now?” he bit out sarcastically. “Well it has been awhile. I suppose they start to add up.” 

“Jaskier,” he scolded reproachfully, voice always keeping that annoyingly calm tone, and the bard sneered at the jealousy that he had allowed to escape him. 

He grabbed for the pitcher of ale, frustrated and heated as he filled his own cup, drinking just as quickly as the alcoholic surly wolf. 

“And what of your child surprise?” he questioned him, not putting the reproachful tone away now that he unleashed it. “Did you ever find her?” 

“Ciri,” Geralt confirmed, and Jaskier’s eyes widened at the confirmation. 

“You found your kid?” He let go of his bitter anger for just a moment, to replace it with blind fascination for everything the witcher was. 

“I found her,” he agreed. “She’s a handful. I think you’d like her.” 

“Oh?” Jaskier questioned in surprise, bitterness lacing in as he remembered the hate that had spewed from this man after his love had left him. “Thought you didn’t like handfuls. What with them causing so much shit in your life?” 

Geralt gave a small huff, smirking as he took a drink. “I like a few handfuls...from time to time.” 

“Right,” Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Until they inconvenience you.” 

The witcher exhaled through his nose, frustrated eyes turning towards the bustling crowd. “I have a temper.” 

Jaskier actually laughed at the dismissive tone, taking another drink, feeling the knot in his stomach begin to tighten. “Yeah? And I have a high sex drive.” Geralt knitted his eyebrows in question, and the bard decided to take pity on his confusion. “Sorry, I thought we were just pointing out the obvious.” 

The other exhaled his frustration, jaw clenched as he stared up at the ceiling. “Are you interested or not?” 

Interested? He had been interested since that first moment he had laid eyes on him in that pub. He had been interested after the first love ballad he had written about him and masked as a noble woman. He had been interested the night of the winter storm when they had shared a bed roll, and Geralt had rolled close behind him, snoring in his ear. He would always be interested. 

“I’m not,” he denied. “Find some other bard.” 

“As I said,” Geralt interjected. “I’m fond of this one.” 

“How fond?” Jaskier pushed him. 

It was too much, Geralt looked away and hummed under his breath in frustration. “I’m trying Jas—” 

It was that same tone he had used to speak of Yennefer. If Jaskier lied enough to himself he could almost convince himself it was fondness. “Try harder.” He met stern unyielding yellow eyes, refusing to back down from their splendor as his jaw was set just as Geralt’s was. 

“I need your help with a king,” Geralt started, seemingly past the point of groveling. “I need to get into his court.” 

“You’re a witcher,” Jaskier argued. “Why don’t you go find some beastie to slay and make yourself the hero?” 

“I think he’s the beast,” Geralt murmured. “Hard to be heroic when you’re bringing down a kingdom.” 

“I”m sure you’ll manage,” the bard assured him. “What does slaying a monstrous king have to do with me?” He didn’t ask what kind of beast this king supposedly was. He had never been one to question the witcher’s judgement of his trade. 

“He’s looking for a bard to write him songs to woo his mistress,” Geralt informed him. “I happen to know one who is skilled at just such a thing.” 

“Flattery now?” Jaskier questioned. “You really must be desperate.” 

Geralt shrugged, pouring them two more glasses. “Think what you will about me.” 

“I think about you a lot,” Jaskier managed, knowing the ale was getting him into very dangerous territory. 

Those molten eyes trailed down him, Geralt taking another drink as he seemed to be calculating what that statement could mean. “Good things I hope?” he finally asked, his voice holding a tone of suggestion. If it was anyone else besides this man, Jaskier might almost think he was flirting. Good thing he knew better.

“Sometimes,” he relented. “Depends on the goal of my thoughts.” 

Geralt smirked, rolling his eyes as he glanced away. “You never change,” he downed his ale, and Jaskier questioned if he was drinking so much out of nerves. Though, what would the White Wolf have to be nervous about?

“Thankfully,” he managed, standing up and reaching into his chest pocket to pull out a coin. He flipped it to Geralt. “Toss a coin to your witch for me, Geralt. I’m sure she can write you a song...what with all her innate...talents…” Geralt gave him an annoyed look, but he ignored it as he grabbed at his lute, strapping it unsteadily over his shoulder. “Thank you for your patronage in buying me a drink…” He bowed unsteadily, turning his back on the only thing he longed for in this world, and going up the stairs to pass out. He may be stupid, needy, loud, crass, annoying, but damn if he was about to let Geralt add desperate to that list. ...Even if he was. 

,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,


	2. The Road to Towards Novigrad

Chapter 2: The Road Towards Novigrad

Jaskier hadn’t slept. How could he have? Geralt had come back into his life after six months of silence, and it had taken everything in him to not immediately agree and run back to his side. Gods he missed being at his side, or a few feet behind him to stare at that delicious ass. He wondered if all witchers were so gorgeous, or if his was just special? Well, of course he was special. Along with infuriating...and he had hurt him. 

It was probably midday by the time he had gotten the motivation to roll out of the inn’s scratchy mattress. He haphazardly pulled on dark green trousers and a silk tunic as he pulled the lute over his shoulder, and made his way down the stairs. He needed out of this town. He needed to disappear so that friends who never loved you nearly half as much as you loved them couldn’t just stumble upon you. 

“Jaskier?” 

“Fuck!” Jaskier spouted out as he was startled, placing a hand over his heart as Geralt was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, nursing a pint with a plate of sausages in front of him. “Don’t you know better than to just startle a man!?” he chastised, heart racing. “What are you even still doing here?” 

Geralt looked down at the plate of food, and then rose an eyebrow at the disgruntled bard. “I didn’t mean to cause you such offense with my breakfast.” 

“You cause offense by still being here!” He may have been a little cranky from his lack of sleep. If anyone could understand that, it was the person who had literally had to wish upon a Djinn to alleviate his problems. 

The witcher let out a grunt of frustration, staring down at the table. “Is your room cleared?” 

Jaskier stared questioningly at him. “Yes?” 

“Good,” Geralt gruffed. “Let’s go. Roach has been saddled for the last hour as you were taking your time.” 

Jaskier’s mouth fell open at the assumption, shaking his head back and forth. “Geralt, I’m not going with you.” 

“Are you hungry?” the witcher questioned, completely ignoring his rejection. Geralt kicked out the chair next to him. “Blood and venison. They’re not bad.”

He stared incredulously, before gingerly sinking down onto the chair as the food was pushed in front of him. “Did Roach kick you in the head or something?” 

“She has before,” Geralt answered easily, his mouth tilting a bit as he watched him with amusement. 

“Clearly explains why you’re acting like a crazy person,” Jaskier surmised, reaching out to stab at a sausage, watching Geralt suspiciously as he ate. “Why are you really here?” 

Geralt seemed to consider the question, watching Jaskier eat before he sighed. “I told you last night…”

“Yeah you told me,” the bard interrupted. “To go write love songs for some king.” He bit into the food, spraying juices across the table, and ignoring Geralt’s look of disgust. “But you didn’t need me specifically for that. Hell, even you could probably stumble across some words to get the Princess hot and bothered.” 

“Oddly enough, I don’t seem to have all that much luck in that regard.” 

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Come off it. You’ve never had trouble finding a woman to warm your bed.” 

“I meant finding the right words when I need to say something,” Geralt argued. 

“Oh?” Jaskier questioned, leaning forward and ignoring the way those yellow eyes were knitted in frustration. “What do you need to say?” he smiled sardonically as he shook his head. “Why are you here, witcher?” he questioned. “Why do you want me to go with you when I clearly burden your life?” 

Those eerie eyes shut as Geralt looked away, gritting his teeth as he seemed to be warring with something. “You’re not a burden.” The words were almost so quiet Jaskier thought he had heard wrong as his heart began to race. 

“What?” he asked, flinching back as those intense eyes turned up to him again, and he remembered what had transpired between them the last time he lost his temper. 

“I said you weren’t a burden, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re positively the most annoying creature I’ve ever come across,” the witcher growled in frustration, and that ripped up part in his heart started to bleed all over again. 

Jaskier tried to keep the hurt off his face as he remembered exactly why they had separated in the first place. He used to be able to take these quips. It used to not matter before being up on that mountain. Now, he knew the witcher wasn’t joking. He pushed the plate of food back towards Geralt, whose lip was curled up in utter frustration. “Thank you for breakfast. See you around, witcher.”

He pushed up off of the chair and headed out the door into the sunshine. He just needed to get away. The next town up would be less eventful. He could forget all of this had happened, and forget about the fact that Geralt was just doing this out of obligation. Maybe guilt? Probably both. He had always saved Jaskier when he needed it, all the while keeping a tally in his mind. 

Jaskier yelped as arms wrapped around him from behind, trying to swing at his assailant as he was flipped around. He saw Geralt’s angered eyes for just a few moments, before he was tossed over the beast of a man’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “Geralt!” he said indignantly, fighting against the other as there wasn’t even a pause in his stride. “Unhand me you overgrown brute!” he barked, causing the witcher to laugh. “It’s not funny! You’re going to break my lute!” 

“I’ll buy you a new one,” Geralt assured him, hand wrapped around him to hold him steady as they headed to the stables. 

“You don’t have the coin for that! We both know you get more work when I’m working for you!” Jaskier argued, trying to kick him only to have Geralt slap his ass hard to get him to stop. 

His eyes widened to saucers at the slap, cheeks burning as a wave of pleasure and confusion filled him at the bold move. He supposed it had done the trick, however, because he was too shocked to fight anymore. The hand tightened on the back of his thighs as he suddenly stilled, and Jaskier could feel Geralt’s shoulders shaking with laughter underneath him. 

He barely had time to spot Roach tied up to the fence, before he was once more flipped over to the ground. Geralt’s hand was clasped tight on his hip to steady him, staring down at him in amusement as Jaskier was trembling in anger and indignation. “Go ahead,” Geralt spoke in amusement. “I can practically see you bristling like a cat.” 

“You spanked me!” he hissed, playing right into Geralt’s hand as the other laughed. 

“I did,” he agreed. “You were being a prick.” The witcher motioned to Roach. “Get on. We’ve got to go. I can add your lute to her pack.” 

Jaskier opened his mouth to respond, but then shut it again as he stared up in confusion. This only increased as Geralt’s hand hadn’t left his hip. He glanced around to see if this were all some kind of prank, before looking back up at the monster hunter. “Ride on Roach?”

“Hmm,” Geralt agreed. “You’re always asking.” his eyes motioned to the horse. “She doesn’t hate you.” 

“She doesn’t?” Jaskier questioned, and for some reason he hoped Geralt wasn’t really talking about his horse. 

Geralt reached out, grabbing onto his chin as he leaned in. “Get on the horse, bard. We have awhile to travel yet today, and you walking behind will just slow us down.” 

His heart was racing at the intensity of that gaze, not believing this was happening as he found himself slowly nodding his compliance. Geralt, seeming to be satisfied he was no longer going to try to get away, stepped back and gave him room to approach the horse. 

He was seriously starting to suspect that some shape shifter had taken on Geralt’s surly mug, and he was a poorly thought out horse ride away from a tragic demise, but then again, he couldn’t stop thinking about the way Geralt had looked at him.

Jaskier secured his things, pushing up onto the horse as Roach whinied at the unfamiliar weight. He slid up on the saddle as Geralt swung on behind him, and he tried to keep the look of absolute shock off his face as a strong body pressed against him. 

He tried to create as much room between them as possible as Geralt grabbed for the reins, taking them all out of the town. “Geralt?” Jaskier questioned, body ramrod straight as he tried not to think about the fact that he needed just lean back to be pressed against the witcher’s cock. 

“Hm?” he asked, and Jaskier shivered at the feel of the breath on his neck. 

“Are you going to kill me?” he asked, not brave enough to glance back and give away just what the trip was doing to him. 

“Not right now,” Geralt assured him. “But it’s always a possibility.” 

Jaskier nodded dumbly, fingers swiping through Roach’s mane. “Just let me know when you decide. I want to be able to write a ballad about my own demise.” 

“I would never think of denying you any of your notoriety,” a warm breath leaned into the shell of his ear. “Dandelion.” Hearing Geralt speak his stage name into his ear caused pleasure to immediately shoot to his cock, and he looked back in shock without being able to help himself. 

“You’ve never called me that!” he said, startled. “I didn’t even know you knew it!” 

Geralt shook his head, looking out towards the wide countryside. “You’re such an idiot.” 

“That’s more familiar,” Jaskier breathed, turning back to the front. “So, are you going to tell me about this king?” 

“King Lannamir,” Geralt relented. “As I said he has his eyes on a princess from Redania. Apparently they can’t garner a political union, and so he is trying to win her the old fashioned way.” 

“And you think he’s a beastie?” Jaskier questioned. “Your kind of thing?” 

Geralt hummed an agreement. “I don’t know what yet, but peasants keep disappearing from the village. Their last known location was traveling to the castle.” 

“How many peasants get an in-person invitation like that?” Jaskier questioned, surprised by the brashness of this king. 

“Exactly,” Geralt agreed. 

“So we get into his court, and try to find out what’s happening to these missing people?” he surmised. “It’s not the worst idea.” 

“I’m glad you approve,” Geralt managed. 

“Where’s your kid?” Jaskier questioned, feeling an ache inside at this familiarity. 

“Vesemir is training her,” Geralt answered easily. 

Jaskier didn’t know who Vesmir was, but his curiosity had gone through the roof at even that little of information. “Training?” he glanced back at Geralt. “To be like you?” 

Geralt didn’t answer right away, and Jaskier had given up hope he ever would, when he quietly uttered. “Not exactly. ...It’s complicated.” 

“Isn’t it always with you?” Jaskier asked, feeling a grin come to his face for the first time since the witcher had come back into his life. He fought the urge to ask after Yennefer. He didn’t want to spoil this, because no matter how much what Geralt had done had hurt, he didn’t actually want to be out of his life. And this, riding on a horse as Geralt actually opened up to him, was beyond anything he could have imagined. “Do I get to meet her?” 

“Do you want to?” Geralt questioned him, voice close to his ear again. Jaskier was once more reminded of how this was affecting his anatomy, as he struggled to hold in a groan at a particularly large bump on the trail. 

“We’ll see,” he managed, not outwardly saying no. “My fanbase does get so distraught if I’m gone for too long.” he joked. He gave an obnoxious yawn as it occurred to him that he hadn’t slept as the sun beat down on him. 

Geralt didn’t reply to his comment, clearly having used his entire quota of speech for a whole month in getting Jaskier to agree to come. Though he supposed he hadn’t so much agreed, as he was forcefully thrown over a brute’s shoulder and made to behave. It was far too sexy for his liking. Especially when he was trying to be in control of the situation. Especially when he was trying to prevent Geralt from learning just why he had been so distraught with the rejection. 

They rode in silence for hours, and the more miles they put on the road, the less stiff and straight Jaskier’s posture became. He relaxed back against Geralt’s hard chest, getting used to the barn smell coming off the witcher and his companion. The steady gate of the hooves began to lull him as his eyes drifted, not able to stay awake as he found himself leaning fully back into those arms as he drifted off. 

When his eyes drifted open again the sky was a deep orange hue as the sun was setting. He was comfortable...warm...safe. A smile came to his face as he wasn’t quite awake yet or aware. He was having a very good dream. One which involved his white wolf pressed against him. 

“You snore,” were the words husked into his ear, and he startled forward as he realized he was on top of a moving animal and had actually been sleeping on the witcher. His heart raced as he was unsteady on top of Roach, nearly toppling over before strong arms wrapped around his waist, steadying his body even if his racing heart was done for. Geralt steered Roach off the road as they headed towards a small town. “Easy.” 

As if he could ever be at ease again after waking up in such a way. “Why didn’t you wake me?” 

“You’re quieter when you’re sleeping,” Geralt said easily, pulling into the stable as he slid off to the ground. Jaskier tried to get off with the same ease, but after riding on a horse all day his legs were like jelly. He awkwardly stumbled forward, bracing himself against the stable door. 

“Where are we?” he asked, not recognizing it as he glanced around. He was still beyond embarrassed by the way he had awoken, but Geralt, for his part, hadn’t mentioned it. 

“Somewhere near Novigrad,” Geralt answered, rubbing down Roach as he made her comfortable in the stable. “Let’s go for a drink.” 

,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.


	3. To Love a Moon

Chapter 3: To Love a Moon

Jaskier followed after Geralt as they headed to the local tavern. It was a small village, but then you didn’t really need much. Mostly just whores and drink, both usually found in abundance as the sun went down. He stretched as he trailed the witcher, still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he had fallen asleep against his chest. Not only that, but Geralt had been acting so strangely. He knew he was trying to win back his trust, but he was almost being...nice. 

“I smell like horse,” he complained, scratching the back of his head. “I need a bath.” 

Geralt glanced back at him with an amused look. “Still smell like chamomile and cloves to me.” 

“And a thick layer of horse on top of it,” Jaskier remarked. “You know those senses of yours can be scary sometimes. Animalistic almost.” 

“Animalistic to you, only because you have the dull senses of a human,” Geralt pointed out. 

“Just saying,” the bard mused. “People smell bad enough as it is without the creepy witcher sniffing.” He didn’t need to look at Geralt’s face to know he was rolling his eyes. “Geralt?” he questioned curiously. “Are your other senses just as enhanced?” 

“Obviously,” Geralt murmured, slowing his gait to look over at the bard. “Why do you think we’re so fast? Strong?” 

“Oh I don’t mean that!” Jaskier waved off, pretending to yawn. “Snoozefest. I meant the things that matter. Does wine taste sweeter? Do you feel things more?” before he could stop himself he added. “Is the fucking better?” 

Geralt stopped at that, eyebrow arched as he turned to look at him. “I’ve always been this way since I’ve had the occasion to learn. Suppose it’s no different in my eyes than it’s always been.”

Jaskier made a face, nose curling. “Well that’s disappointing. Think they’d give you at least one bit of good cheer to go along with all the scars and the murder.” 

“I wouldn’t describe it as disappointing,” Geralt assured him, before pushing into the inn. 

“Hmm,” Jaskier said to himself, taking a page from the witcher’s repertoire as he considered just how not disappointing it probably was. 

Shaking off the thoughts of just what it would be like to bed a witcher with superhuman fucking abilities, Jaskier followed him inside. 

The moment he entered the tavern he could feel his spirits lifting. He hadn’t forgiven Geralt by any means, but after being forcibly manhandled onto a horse and dragged across the country, he had gotten over his silence at the very least. 

“Hello!” he greeted the barmaid with a wave, heading up to her. “Any music tonight?” he questioned her, holding up his lute. He smiled at her, and to his pleasure she smiled back with almost perfect dimples. Her hair was done up in a messy bun, and he bosom was practically pouring out of her burgundy dress. 

“Not a one bard,” she answered, eyeing him up and down, and obviously taking in his instrument. “There hasn’t been much cause for celebration around here lately.” 

His face fell in distaste as he realized what exactly they had walked in to, but he hid it quickly. “What’s happened?”

The barmaid glanced over to where Geralt had sunk into a booth and pulled over a bowl of stew. “Do you know that man?” 

He glanced behind him to where the witcher was downing a pint of ale. “We’re somewhat acquainted, yes.” 

“Is he who I think he is?” she questioned, fascination mixed with hope were shining in her dull brown eyes. “The White Wolf?” 

“Some would say,” Jaskier agreed with a charming smile. “So what seems to be your trouble?” 

She glanced around suspiciously, sliding forward a drink and Jaskier’s own bowl of food as he slid back coin. “As it so happens...we have a problem with wolves.” 

“Wolves?” he asked back, confused. “Surely there are people in the village capable of handling such matters.” 

She sighed, a darkness overtaking her. “It’s not that kind of wolf.” She leaned in. “This one howls like a beast in the night, and hides amongst us during the day. It’s killed five of our people. Ripped them to pieces.” 

Jaskier made a face. “It’s always with the messy bits and pieces, isn’t it?” he asked with distaste. “How much does a good ole werewolf slaying fetch you in these parts?” 

“We don’t have much,” she said, and it was typical...they never did. “We could pay ten crowns.” 

“Twenty?” he tried to bargain with little hope of success, and at seeing her face fall he nodded his understanding. “Well it was worth a try.” He reached out, grabbing for the food and ale. “I’ll bring the proposition back to the brute.” 

Jaskier sank down in front of Geralt. “Soo…” he started awkwardly. “I may have slightly agreed to go on a little side quest.” 

“What?” Geralt bit back, annoyance covering his face. 

“And by me...I of course mean you,” he stated awkwardly, pulling a face as he stared at Geralt’s surly expression. 

“Jas…” Geralt growled out. “We don’t have time.” He glanced up towards the barmaid. “What even did you agree to?” 

“Werewolf I think,” Jaskier shrugged.

“Werewolf?” the witcher asked back in annoyance. “They’re sure?” 

Jaskier shrugged. “I suppose there’s only one way to find out.” He thought about it for a moment. “I don’t think I’ve told a werewolf story before. Could be quite romantic.” 

“Romantic?” Geralt asked skeptically, brows raised. 

“Have you no imagination, witcher?” Jaskier questioned, grinning at him. “Of course it’s romantic! A man so in love with the moon that he’d change his own shape to be with her?” 

Geralt grinned at him, shaking his head. “That’s quite possibly the dumbest thing I’ve heard you say...and I’ve spent quite a good deal around you.” 

“Come off it!” Jaskier rebuked the insult. “To want something so badly that you’d be willing to change form to have it? To be with who you don’t belong with, and yet ache for in every cell of your marrow?” 

Smouldering yellow eyes stared into him at that, and Jaskier saw pain behind their depths. His face fell once he realized why, the openness fading as he remembered what had happened between them. “Right,” he spoke softly. “Of course you know all about that.” Him and Yennefer had been doomed from the start, and yet, still drawn together. 

“Jas—” Geralt started. 

“Ten crown for the job,” Jaskier covered with. “It’s not much, but five people have been killed, and so it seemed more than enough for such a tragedy.” For some reason, he no longer felt like singing. 

Geralt glanced down at the table, jaw clenched in what Jaskier had learned to interpret as frustration. He was probably about to start insulting him again. He let the uncomfortable silence between them linger as he considered the fact that Geralt had actually wished for her. He had wished to tie himself to that witch forever. There had never been any hope. 

“Are you going after it tonight then?” he asked, watching the other patrons as they all looked so exhausted and scared. The werewolf must have really been wreaking havoc in their small village. 

“They aren’t creatures to generally be found in the daytime,” Geralt remarked, still staring at him strangely. 

“Ah! Even I knew that one.” He picked at the strings of his instrument, staring forlornly down at it as he couldn’t seem to get the picture of them in bed together out of his head. 

“You’ve seemed to have set your mind to me doing this.” Geralt murmured.”Why?” 

Jaskier rose an eyebrow as he glanced up. “Do you mean besides the murder happening here, and the crowns offered?” 

The look of suspicion only grew. “You’ll have to stay here.” 

“I gathered,” Jaskier pointed out, now beyond curious as to what Geralt was getting out. 

“Convenient,” the witcher bit out, and those eyes were hard with anger. 

“For who?” Jaskier asked back. “The people being mauled? I daresay they would disagree with you.” 

“You’ll run,” the witcher bit out. 

“I’ll run?” Jaskier asked in utter confusion, before realization hit him. “Ohhhh…” he stared up at the ceiling. “I suppose it does afford me the opportunity of escape.” 

The witcher let out a sigh of frustration, and Jaskier glanced over as his fists were clenched on the table. He seemed to be debating something as he looked back and forth in his anger, before turning those cold angry eyes once more on him. “You’ll stay here, and wait for me.” 

Jaskier gave a scoff at that, grinning as he shook his head. “Geralt...You can’t tell me what to do.” 

“I can,” Geralt argued right back, and Jaskier thought his teeth might crack from how hard he was clenching his jaw. 

“No, darling wolf,” Jaskier teased him, never knowing when to quit. “You can’t. You can ask me, however, that might be the first step.” 

Geralt exhaled through his nose in irritation, motioning Jaskier close. He gulped at that look, leaning forward in trepidation. He gripped his chin, pulling him so that his mouth was against his ear. “Stay put.” 

Jaskier twisted in the grasp as his heart pounded, locked in those molten pools. “Or what?” 

“Hm,” Geralt considered, not moving back. “Best leave that to your imagination.” 

“Dangerous,” the bard managed, throat dry as the tips of Geralt’s fingers began to trace along his pulse. “I can imagine quite a lot.” 

Geralt hummed another agreement. “I’m counting on it,” he assured him before slipping out of the booth. 

Jaskier exhaled shakily, bracing himself on the table as Geralt walked up to the barmaid and grabbed for the bag of coin, before heading out of the tavern. Seeming to be unaware of the absolute disaster he had left in his wake. 

Had he… no...certainly not. Geralt wasn’t hitting on him. That thing with the ass slapping had been playful. Practically cradling him against his chest while he slept had been convenient...he could have fallen off the horse. He had just misconstrued what those words he had just spoken meant. Hell, he had probably just been threatening his imminent death. 

It couldn’t have been any more than that, because Geralt didn’t do flirting. He did surly stares of horniness sometimes, but he didn’t do flirting. That would be construed as weakness. That would be construed as having emotion beyond wanting to kill and fuck his way through life. With the occasion of saving a few princesses and kingdoms. 

He was reading too much into things. He was seeing what he wanted to out of the witcher, because otherwise it meant that he really had just come to find him for some silly job. A job that they had immediately gotten distracted from. Though, to be fair, that had been mostly his fault this time he supposed. 

He was being an idiot to even consider the possibility that Geralt might want him in that way. He had grown delusional in the witcher’s absence, that was all. That’s all it could ever be between them...a delusion. 

In the meantime. He could distract himself by other means. The barmaid had been quite pretty, and now that he had taken up the role of her protector by proxy, well, maybe she would give him more than free drink. 

There was always a point when working on binge drinking when you cross a fine line between browning out and blacking out. Blacking out of course being the point where you remembered nothing. The foolishness of the previous night was lost to you, and your conscience could rest easily. Browning out could be trickier. Browning out allowed you bits and pieces of the night before, without any sort of cohesive timeline. It was a nightmare...and he was well on his way. 

Jaskier remembered singing You Think You’re Safe amongst a rowdy crowd while clashing glasses with the locals. He faintly recalled taking the previously surly barmaid to the back of the bar, and getting to see some of her more favorable skills. He had vague snippets of a man named Charlie leading him up the steps towards the inn...and after that, well...it was up to his non-existent conscience to decide he supposed.   
~*~

Geralt was...distracted. That was the best word for it. He would never admit to the guilt he had felt upon saying what he had to the annoying bard. Jaskier, for his part, had caused every single one of those things to happen. He had in fact dragged him to Calanthe’s castle to help him with his promiscuity problem. To which, he had gotten a literal child surprise out of the deal. 

Of course, then that child had turned out to be Ciri. Ciri, who was his destiny. Who would change the world. He was always meant to protect her...to train her. Had he not been at that banquet, she would have no doubtedly been murdered. Had he not been at that banquet, her father would have been murdered as well. At least he gave her real parents for a short while. At least in that sense she had been happy. 

Vesemir had her at Kaer Morhen now. She was quick as a whip, but her fighting skills left something to be desired. They would work on her lore, and then Geralt would be back for her combat training. He just had something to take care of in the meantime.

The only upside about what had happened with the djinn, had been that when Jaskier had awoken, he hadn’t remembered him losing his temper. He suspected Yennefer had a hand in that, but he had never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

That meeting had also brought Yennefer into their lives, a fact that Jaskier hadn’t let him forget. Yennefer, he knew she was the next stop. He had heard tale of what she had done during the Battle of Sodden Hill. Everyone had. She had burned an entire army. These women in his life were powerful enough to change the course of the world. He cared for her. He may even love her...if his kind could feel what humans describe as love. There was passion at the very least. There was also frustration. Indignation. They liked to hurt one another. It wasn’t the makings of a good pairing. He also hadn’t forgotten the dragon’s words. He would end up losing her. 

Damn destiny. He had let it rule too much of his life already, despite not even believing in it. He would make things right with what had happened between him and Yennefer. First, however, he would make things right with the pain in the ass musician he just couldn’t seem to get rid of. Despite the fact that this time he had been the one to seek him. 

He hadn’t meant to hurt him, and yet he couldn’t say the words that he knew Jaskier wanted to hear. So what had he done? Kidnapped the bard, and then agreed to hunt a werewolf for him. Naturally. He had wronged Jaskier. It may be hard for him to express that fact, but it didn’t change the fact that it was true. 

Geralt sighed, reaching into his pocket as he pulled out a vial. He had tracked the wolf across the countryside. He stared piteously as its long jagged teeth tore through the flesh of a sheep. He was curious whether or not the villagers knew that by asking him to slay this creature, they were in turn asking him to slay one of their own. It wasn’t the man’s fault the moon’s affliction had been placed upon him. It wasn’t the man’s fault that he turned this way. The curse was passed down from person to person with violence and blood. 

There was the distinct possibility that whoever the creature turned to when the full moon wasn’t shining wasn’t even aware of what he was doing. It seemed wrong to slay him for it. Nevertheless, he couldn’t exactly allow the creature to roam the countryside and kill again. He hefted the silver chains further over his shoulder as he downed the tonic. He just needed to subdue the creature for the night. They could worry about teaching him how to manage his affliction in the morning when he was human. 

A surge of adrenaline and power coursed through his veins, and he could feel the inky blackness flood his eyes as his vision took on a sharper hue. He crouched down as he approached the beast, trying to be as quiet as possible as he gripped the chains. If he could sneak up on it, this may not need to end in bloodshed. He couldn’t risk such a thing. He knew exactly what would happen if he let the creature hurt him. One cursed fate was already quite enough for him. 

He was nearly there, only 3 meters from the wolf when his boot snapped a tree branch, and glowing orange eyes turned right into his. The thick matted fur bristled, and Geralt could see the caked on blood clumped in it. He wondered if that was from the transformation, or his kills. It could have very well been both. 

Snarling teeth turned to him, and Geralt curled his nose as the scent of rotting flesh from that warm breath hit him. “Calm…” he tried, but the growls got louder as it arched its back to strike. He exhaled his frustration as he grabbed for the chains. “Don’t make me do this.” The wolf pounced at him then, and he barely had time to get the chains up to block that snapping fangs as the wolf screamed at the silver pressed into its mouth. 

He used the creature’s surprise to press both feet into its chest and propel it off of him. Using the slight reprieve to his advantage, Geralt rolled away and got back to his feet. He swung the chain over his head to get momentum, tossing it towards the wolf as it ran at him for another attack. Steaming blood was now gushing from his muzzle from where the silver had touched it, but Geralt couldn't be overly concerned with its pain, what with it still trying to rip his face off. 

The creature barreled back into him just as he tossed the chain. It wrapped around that mangled fur as the wolf began to howl out in pain. Geralt did everything he could to avoid the ripping claws, narrowly avoiding getting scratched as one tore through the leather of his thigh. He tightened his hold on the chains, yanking as warm bloody spiddle covered his face and the wolf’s teeth tried to rip him apart. 

Using the momentum afforded to him by the lunge, Geralt rolled them over until he was straddling the wolf’s back, tightening the chains as he used his witcher strength with the tonic to pull tight with both arms. If he could just make the thing pass out he would be able to subdue him until the morning. 

Geralt pressed his knee hard into the wolf’s scruff, holding it through the struggle as they thrashed along the ground. His silver sword was ready on his back if it came to that, but he could already feel the wolf relenting. 

The creature collapsed into a heap as Geralt panted with exhaustion. He allowed himself a few calming breaths, before working to secure the chains more tightly around the wolf. After securing it he hefted the weight over his back, a bloody snout hanging over one shoulder as he considered the fact that if it were to wake up it would be in prime position to tear out his throat. 

He didn’t think it would be a problem though. It had taken him nearly six hours to track the creature down. Sunrise was in an hour, and he just had to hope that he was human again before he regained consciousness. That, or he was going to have to explain to Jaskier why he had to chain him up once a month going forward. He smirked at the thought. The bard would probably enjoy that part. 

Geralt was exhausted by the time he got back to the tavern. An hour previous the 300 pound wolf had shifted into a 150 pound man, giving him at least some reprieve. The man couldn’t be older than 25. He had dark hair that looked very similar to Jaskier, his build thin. It made him consider the fact that this very thing could have happened to anyone. He hadn’t asked for the curse, and yet his friends and family wished to butcher him for it because he dared be different from them. Humans made him sick sometimes in their callowness. 

No one was in the tavern besides the drunks who had passed out there the night before, and so he didn’t feel too terrible about slamming the body down on the bar. He reached over him to grab at the barrel closest to him, pouring out a drink as he downed it with his thirst. The witcher potions always made his throat so dry. 

Geralt took care in undoing the man’s bindings so that no one woke up to see him strapped to the bar. That was a sure fire way to get him beheaded by his so called friends and neighbors. He poured another glass of ale, setting it in front of the wolf man to help him wash the taste of sheep entrails from his mouth when he awoke. 

The witcher sniffed the air as the vaguest scent of cloves filled his nostrils. The bard hadn’t run, but that wasn’t the only smell he could discern. He frowned at the smell of salt and sex that was mixed with the calming chamomile as he climbed the stairs. He supposed he shouldn’t be at all surprised. It’s not as if Jaskier was ever pious when it came to traveling. It was probably just the fact that he was exhausted from the hunt. The fact that he was actually climbing the stairs knowing exactly what he would find when he got to the rented room was something he would have to examine later. After he found Jaskier, and ripped whatever tavern wench he had decided to bed for the night out of his arms. 

He was very wrong, however, he could actually be surprised. For when he entered the room it wasn’t a wench he found in the bard’s arms. It was a middle aged red headed male. The man hard curled himself around Jaskier, his arms were snaked beneath the sheets, no doubt grasping at his waist. His mouth was pressed familiarly to the back of the long angular neck. His nose was buried in that soft hair, inhaling the scent that his senses should only be able to unmask. 

Rage overtook his senses as his gut felt like it had been punched. He moved without stopping to think of the consequences as his bicep strained grabbing hold of that lecher’s leg and ripping him away from the singer. 

The man cried out at being startled, alerting Jaskier to the intrusion as he sat up in bed. “Geralt what are you…”

Geralt didn’t let him finish as he yanked the asshole off the bed, grinning slightly as his chin banged against the floorboards. “Get out,” he managed, teeth clenched in fury as madness took over for reason. 

The redhead stumbled to his feet. “Are you mad!?” At this moment, he’d very much say so. 

“Would you like to find out?” he growled right back, eyes wild as he stepped closer. The man stood in his nakedness, and Geralt saw the cock that had no doubt been inside the bard earlier. The fact only enraged him more. 

“Geralt!” Jaskier snapped from the bed, but he ignored him as he faced down that man. 

“I’m not afraid of you!” Jaskier’s bed mate spoke brashly. 

“Oh, you very much should be…” the bard said in nervous trepidation, before the redhead swung at his face. 

Geralt sighed in utter annoyance, catching the fist easily and using the propulsion to spin the naked idiot towards the door frame. His face collided with a sickening crack as his nose broke. Blood sprayed across the floor as the man began to scream. To get rid of the noise Geralt grabbed him by the back of the shoulder and tossed him in his nakedness out of the room. He slammed the heavy oak door behind him, locking it as he turned his rage on Jaskier.

He was met with a resounding slap. Geralt’s head had snapped to the side in his surprise, but he slowly drew it back to face the anger in those grey eyes. Jaskier had wrapped the sheet around his hips, crawling on his knees to the edge of the bed to meet him as fury burned in his eyes. “Why you overbearing, faithless, brutish, ogre of a witcher!” the bard hissed between his teeth. 

The witcher for his part couldn’t focus on the insults, because he was too narrowed in on the state of Jaskier. His neck was peppered in bruises, there was flaking cum on his belly, and handmarks on the bit of thigh not covered in the sheet. 

“Did he fuck you?” he asked, knowing the answer, and knowing hearing it from Jaskier’s mouth would just enrage him even more. He never did learn how to quell his temper when it came to the bard. 

Jaskier shook his head incredulously, and he watched his jaw clench. “What do you think?” 

“What do I think?” Geralt questioned with raised brows. “You really want to know?” 

“I asked, didn’t I?” Jaskier questioned, never being one to back down from him even after he had just witnessed him pummel his lover’s face. 

“You did,” Geralt agreed. “But the last time I told you what I thought you ran hiding for half a year.” 

“I’m not hiding from you,” Jaskier denied, and Geralt took a step closer so that he was looming over the bard. 

“Liar,” he assured him, knowing why the bard had ran. Just like deep down he knew why he had dragged that man out by his ankles. 

Jaskier shoved at his chest then, and Geralt didn’t let himself be moved. “Get out,” he bit. 

“No,” Geralt said easily, grunting as he was shoved again. 

“I said get out!” Jaskier’s temper was flaring, and Geralt didn’t blame him, all things considered. “You can’t do things like this! You can’t confuse me!” 

“Not trying to,” Geralt spoke honestly, because he hadn’t planned any of this. He had just gone to find Jaskier because he felt guilty. He was just trying to make things right. 

“Yeah?” Jaskier questioned, shoving at him again. “Well you’re failing!” The brunette hiked up the sheet as it began to fall. “Why did you come find me? Why?” He motioned to the bloody door. “Why did you do that?”

“I told you,” Geralt started, but Jaskier cut him off.

“Yes yes... your evil king! But that doesn’t explain you ripping a man from my bed, does it?” he pressed. 

“He was beneath you,” he argued, causing Jaskier to scoff. 

“No Geralt, I assure you, he was very very much on top.” 

Geralt reacted then without thinking as he saw red at Jaskier’s insinuation. He grabbed the back of shaggy brown hair and the same hip that was covered in finger marks as he pulled the body close. He didn’t hesitate then, as he had so many times previously with his bard, and yanked him hard to his lips to finally shut him up. 

Jaskier didn’t melt into him like all the women he had chosen to bed had. He instead fought him, not pulling back from the kiss, but pressing closer against him for dominance as their teeth clashed together. 

Fisting his hand into that hair, Geralt pulled it taught as he took control of the kiss enough to make the bard submit as his tongue pressed against his, moaning at the sweet taste. The hand on Jaskier’s hip tightened, and he groaned as hands trailed up his chest, nails digging into his flesh as the kiss deepened. 

He poured out his aggression and jealousy into that kiss, not realizing how achingly deep he had missed his singer. Geralt’s hands had moved to the sheet to rip off just as a resounding scream filled the air coming from downstairs. 

“Fuck,” he cursed, pulling away, and gave a fond smile that Jaskier would never see at the sight of the bard’s eyes being closed in bliss with a look of wonder etched across his features.   
Jaskier blinked it off a moment’s later as the screaming continued, his fingers flexing along Geralt’s clavicles. “What is that?” 

“I imagine they found the wolf,” he answered with disdain, pulling Jaskier’s hands from him as he reluctantly stepped back, not releasing his wrists. “I have to go take care of this.” He hesitated, finally relenting as he leaned in and stole one more kiss. “Make sure his scent is off you by the time you come down.” he spoke, letting go entirely, and without another glance headed out of the door to deal with his wolf problem, ignoring the incapacitated body he had to step over in his wake.   
,.,.,.,.,.,.,.


	4. Number Five with a Mallet

Chapter 4: Number Five with a Mallet

It had taken a bit for Jaskier to right himself. To be perfectly honest, he hadn’t exactly been planning on a burly barbarian witcher to have popped into his room, thrown out his bedmate, and then kissed him. 

Why had he kissed him? 

He was more than familiar with Geralt making very little sense in his thoughts or actions, Yennefer being more than enough to testify to that fact, but it was quite another matter when that impulsiveness had been thrust upon him. Literally. There had been tongue. Quite a lot of it in fact. 

Jaskier’s fingers went to his lips, still tingling as he wondered if some of Geralt’s tonic had been left over when he pressed against him. That would at least explain the kiss. The witcher had been out of his mind, or whatever happened to him when his eyes went beetle black. It hadn’t meant anything. It certainly hadn’t meant what he wanted it to. That would be preposterous. 

He had taken his time in gathering their things, having heard a commotion from down the stairs. He really liked to involve himself in witcher affairs when there was a story to be told, but when it came to the tedious part of getting thrown out of town after town because of small minded idiots, well, he would definitely pass almost every time. 

It was exhausting to hear the constant jeers thrown Geralt’s way as they passed. He had done what he could to help with the witcher’s reputation, but it was impossible to sway opinion in every village simpleton. They would think what they would of the white wolf, and in turn, he would save them as always while collecting his coin. They may sometimes give it begrudgingly, but it didn’t change the fact that Geralt always managed to get paid in the end—one way or another. 

Jaskier needed only to follow the trail of disaster to find his missing companion. The bar they had spent the night in was an absolute mess. Stools were upended, all of the glasses were smashed as he tip-toed around the wreckage. The man he had chosen to bed, he couldn’t quite remember his name, was currently nursing his broken nose in the corner. His once attractive face was now swollen and lumpy from being crushed across the door frame. The bard placed his hand against the side of his face, moving quickly to sneak passed that awkwardness. The last thing he needed was to be called out for getting a witcher’s wrath poured upon him. Besides, he was never really one to linger once the deed was done. 

It was tedious, really. 

He hadn’t ever wanted to escape Geralt, though. No, he corrected his thoughts. Of course there had been times he had wanted to escape the surly brute. When he was screaming at him. When his mood was particularly foul. When he was covered in viscera and expected Jaskier to help him scrub it off him. Though, that lended itself to interesting opportunities. But he had always liked the quiet moments. Those times around the fire when they had just woken up, and Geralt would cook them breakfast. Jaskier would eventually end up talking the witcher’s ear off, as was his nature, but there were moments when he was just fine basking in the weight of that silence. It hadn’t been suffocating. It had been liberating. To finally feel comfortable enough around another person to not think he had to fill the air with words, or risk the other realizing how truly dull he could be. It was his greatest fear, but Geralt had never seemed to care. Until he had. Until he had told Jaskier just what a burden his company had been, and every bit of anxiety he had felt had washed over him. 

Perhaps it had been those moments of silence. 

Perhaps Geralt had seen how little of shine he truly had when he was just trying to bask in someone else’s glow. 

He shielded his eyes from the sunlight as he followed the trail of blood heading out of the village and down towards a cave. He didn’t even need a creepy super human sense to track where Geralt had gone. Why was he bleeding, though? Was it his blood? No, he didn’t think so. He had seen all those misguided peasants in the bar. They wouldn’t be able to hurt him, and the moon wasn’t out for the wolf to turn. 

Jaskier stretched and yawned as he padded down some stone steps to what appeared to be a creepy cellar. He wasn’t even a little surprised to see the unconscious man who was bound and gagged in the corner, and he noticed the bandaged shoulder from what he was guessing was a stab wound. The villagers must have tried to slay their wolf when he wasn’t a wolf at all. Leave it to Geralt to interfere and save him. 

The witcher himself was busy in the corner, trying to fit an iron door into a frame. There appeared to be a cell of a room behind the door, and Jaskier raised an eyebrow as he looked back and forth from the unconscious man, to the makeshift prison he was about to be shoved into. 

“Geralt, what are you doing?” he asked unnecessarily, just trying to break the silence as his mind flashed to the bedroom, when the witcher had grabbed him with such possession. When the witcher had yanked him forward without abandon into one of the best kisses of his life. 

“Wolf cage,” the other answered, not bothering to look back as he began to pound on the hinges with a mallet. 

“Ah,” he murmured, getting closer than what was probably necessary as he felt awkward. “I packed our stuff when you’re done with your little project.” Geralt didn’t reply, pounding out iron latchings as he began to work on pulling the door open and closed. “I haven’t fed Roach yet this morning. Suppose I could go do that. Also didn’t pay for the bath I took, but then, after seeing downstairs, I don’t think they really want our money at this point.” 

Geralt ignored him as he seemed satisfied with the door’s readiness, walking over to the man and throwing him over his shoulder to carry him over to the cell. Jaskier winced as he was dropped down onto the ground like a sack of potatoes. 

“Poor bloke,” he sympathized. “Would not want to wake up in there. Though I have had experience being locked up in a cell in my life. I just knew there was going to be somebody around to let me out.” He motioned to the man. “Those villagers weren’t too fond of him. How do you know they’ll let him out once the full moon is over?” 

“I don’t,” Geralt answered with a gruff, and Jaskier shifted uncomfortably as he could hear the irritation in his tone. “I told the barkeep he would be here. She said she would let him out once the danger had passed. She said they would make sure he came here during the moon.” 

“You’re not one to usually be so trusting,” Jaskier mused. “Must be impatient to get on the road to find your king.” 

Geralt grunted under his breath, locking the cage and hanging up the key before he headed back up the stairs. It may have been because he was oversensitive to such things, but the bard was positive he had yet to even glance in his direction. It stung more than it rightly should. Geralt hadn’t been in his right mind when he kissed him. He had just gotten back from a hunt. To think he could have actually been jealous was laughable. 

“Right,” Jaskier murmured to himself, always following after his Witcher as he carried their gear and supplies, not surprised to see Geralt beelining to the horse. Jaskier slowly handed over their things as Geralt loaded everything without a word, practically squirming now with the awkward silence. He felt like he was teetering on the thin edge of a coin, and it could tip at any moment and spill out the witcher’s temper. Geralt’s back was taught, his jaw set in a hard line as he took Jaskier’s lute and loaded it on one of the saddle bags. 

“You’re fine with walking?” Geralt questioned him, pulling Roach’s head out of the grain feeder as he led her to the trail. 

Jaskier tried not to flinch, but wasn’t sure he quite succeeded as it felt like icy water had been poured down his spine. His jaw set in a hard line as he tried to keep the hurt off his face as he had let himself become complacent in whatever this half ass apology/kidnapping had been. “No witcher, I don’t mind walking.” He did nothing to hide the iciness in his tone, and upon hearing it, Geralt finally turned to look at him. 

“I just thought you’d be too sore to ride,” Geralt replied back, and Jaskier felt his cheeks light up in a shame he hadn’t felt toward intimacy since he had been a teenager. 

“Right,” he replied, anger overtaking him. “Well you see I’ve just had so many cocks up my arse that I’m now immune to the travesties that come from horse travel after being just such an enormous slut!” He realized he had yelled that last part, but couldn’t keep his ire at bay as he glowered at the witcher who had the audacity to shame him. 

“How many?” Geralt questioned, and if Jaskier hadn’t been so angry, he might have seen how those yellow eyes were practically glowing in anger. 

“How many cocks?” Jaskier asked back, voice incredulous. 

“How many men have touched you?” Geralt snapped back at him, voice a dark growl. “How many?” 

“Including yourself?” the bard questioned, motioning back and forth between them. “Or are we still pretending that you didn’t kiss me?” 

“I’m not pretending anything,” Geralt assured him, those burning eyes were still focused on him, and Jaskier didn’t quite realize how overwhelming it was to finally be the source of his attention. “Answer the question.” 

“What does it matter if they’re guy or girl?” he questioned. “Don’t see me asking you how many whores you’ve bedded, your sorceress very much included as one of those, I assure you.” 

Geralt’s jaw set in a hard line at the insult. “Why don’t you like Yennefer?” 

“Why don’t you like people fucking me?” Jaskier countered, because if Geralt was going to dare shame him, he wasn’t going to hold back on the depravity. “You want to know about the men I’ve bedded, wolf? Does there have to have been penetration, or could I have also gobbled them down until they came all over my face?” The murderous look Geralt was giving him normally would have frightened him, but he was already too far gone. “You want to hear about my threesomes that involved both genders, or does it only count when I’m being spitroasted from both ends? Please tell me at what level your judgement starts for whom I choose to bed?” 

The witcher's hands flexed at his sides and Jaskier could actually hear him gritting his teeth, before he exhaled some of his fury. “Enjoy your walk,” he stated, turning away from the fight and practically launching himself onto Roach. 

Jaskier was practically slack jawed with the nerve of the brute to assume he’d still be willing to trail after him. “I’m not going with you, witcher.” 

Geralt snorted, and then motioned to the lute already secured on Roach’s pack. “You will, if you want this back.” Jaskier’s eyes widened as he realized his mistake, lunging to grab the instrument at the same time that the witcher kicked at Roach and took off at a canter down the trail.   
~*~

It took hours before he caught up to him, and even then, it was just because the sun had set and Geralt had set up camp for the night. The ass. Jaskier was exhausted, dirty, and his throat was absolutely parched from thirst as Geralt hadn’t thought to leave him any water when he had taken the lute he had gotten from the elves as hostage. The lute he had gotten from the white wolf as his penance. 

Jaskier was silent as he stalked over to the man who was currently roasting some sort of bird over the fire. Those yellow eyes practically glowed with the flame, glued on him as he came to stand in front of the man sitting on a log in front of the fire. He grabbed for the water skin he held in anger, upturning it as he gulped it savagely, trying to quell his thirst. 

When he was satisfied he was no longer going to die of dehydration, Jaskier ripped the skin away and wiped his mouth on the back of his dusty sleeve. “Five,” he started, looking down at Geralt. “Five, including you.”

“Jas—” Geralt warned as Jaskier hadn’t let a day’s journey put out the fire behind the witcher’s earlier slight. 

“No, let me finish since you seem to be so curious.” He motioned dramatically around. “Indulge me, my beautiful white wolf, while I stroke your wildly inflamed ego.” Jaskier reached out and grabbed that stern chin, dragging Geralt’s attention up to him as he pushed closer to practically stand between his legs. “The first man who touched me was the night after the elves. I couldn’t stop thinking about being tied up against you...about being pressed against you as you bled for me. As you protected me. I sang your praises to the patrons at that pub, and as they tossed you coin I let him toss me some. I breathed your praises on his inadequate form, and when I woke up beside him I realized that I would follow you forever if only for the thought of waking up finally satisfied.”

He thought he might be going mad as Geralt didn’t push him away at his words, instead letting a hand draw up the back of his thigh, fingertips splaying in encouragement. “The second was a fleeting fancy. A way to forget you as I hadn’t run into you for over a year. I wanted to fall in love. I thought I had, but he too managed to disappoint me.” 

Jaskier’s eyes were half lidded as Geralt’s hands began to move, massaging his sore muscles from a day of walking, traveling up over his glutes, grasping him as Jaskier pushed his fingers into the wild tangle that was the witcher’s hair. 

“The third you’ll find interesting, I daresay,” he started, breathing quickening as Geralt’s other hand came to the ties on his tunic, tugging at them as he continued to massage, eyes guarded and locked with his own as Jaskier made him focus for the tale. “It was after you sent me away. I was crushed. I was aching,” he stressed as Geralt used both hands now to slip the shiny green fabric off his shoulders so that he was just in the loose fitting shirt. “I found someone as big as you...as brutish as you...and I let him do whatever he wanted to me, because I knew…” He leaned in, both hands fisted in that hair as he brought them a breath apart. “I knew the one I wanted was sure I was just a burden on him. After all we had been through...and all I had done for him...I was the monster in his story.” 

“You’re—” Jaskier didn’t allow him to finish, too scared of what the answer would be of what he was to Geralt. He kissed him instead, all but yanking the witcher’s mouth to his, not giving him a choice to reject him. 

Jaskier’s mind soared the instant their lips touched as it had the night before, and pressed closer, practically whining in need as his arms wrapped around Geralt’s neck. The witcher kissed him back, taking everything he couldn’t help but give as he sank onto the other’s lap. He straddled that strong waist, kissing Geralt deeper as he pushed his tongue into the witcher’s mouth, tasting him, claiming him as he lapped at the monster hunter’s tongue and forced him back until he submitted to the skill he knew he had. 

He had made countless women fall in love with him by the way he kissed. He had inspired songs as well as written them. He needed Geralt to feel those skills. He needed him to feel this overwhelming sensation of desperation now that they were finally connected after all this time. All the years of pining after him. All the years of begging for any scrap of affection, when all he needed to do was force him to submit to his lips as he had forced him to endure his tongue for years. 

He broke away from that mouth for need to breathe, taking a deep shaking gulp of air as Geralt’s hands scrambled to the back of his shirt, ripping it up over his head, before yanking him back to kiss him again. 

Powerful fingers sunk into his bare back, pressing into his spine to pull him closer as Jaskier clasped at Geralt’s chin, not allowing him to escape as he trembled against his mouth. He moved on top of the witcher, rolling his hips along with the roll of his tongue, feeling Geralt’s cock began to harden underneath him in his leather trousers.

Geralt growled into his mouth at that, arms wrapping tight as he pushed up to his feet. Jaskier took the hint as he was lifted easily, legs wrapping around the witcher’s waist as the other stumbled forward with him. Geralt sunk to his knees, pressing him back on the ground with the fire crackling next to him. He pulled away from him then, and the witcher’s eyes were molten with danger and lust as his hands came to his trousers. Jaskier grunted as they were yanked down without a care, and his cock was exposed to Geralt, already hard and aching against his belly. 

“This for me,” Geralt growled, calloused thumb tracing over Jaskier’s cock as he shifted from him in the dirt to get away from prying eyes. 

“Geralt—” he pressed, trying not to let a desperate tone leave him as that thumb stroked teasingly along the vein. 

“Jaskier—” the witcher mocked back with playfully, and his heart clutched in his chest as a smile actually lit up Geralt’s face, before he cupped both sides of his face and leaned down to kiss him. 

Jaskier melted almost instantaneously as Geralt took control of the kiss, blanketing his body as the bard’s bare legs wrapped around him. Why did the witcher still have so many clothes, when he was about to lose it at just feeling him finally above him? 

He reached between them, desperately shoving at those leather pants to get them down over his hips as Geralt’s hands came underneath his hips, lifting him up as he thrust between his legs. 

He barely managed to get those pants down over Geralt’s encouraged member, before his hips were grabbed and he was flipped, as if weightless, over onto his stomach. He moaned as he was dragged up onto his knees, and he heard Geralt spit before two wet fingers were pushed into his spread entrance. 

Jaskier cried out at the intrusion, knees scraping along the floor as Geralt pressed deep inside him, spreading those fingers and making his elbows slip along the ground. “Forgive me,” Geralt spoke, and lips pressed against the back on his shoulder as he fucked his fingers in and out. “Thought you were spread enough from number four.” As he spoke those fingers spread wider, and another slipped in as Jaskier’s face fell to the ground. 

“T-think you’re going to be number f-five?” Jaskier managed, stuttering through the words as he actually thrust back into those fingers, body covered in sweat from the fire and how turned on he was to have Geralt of Rivia finger fucking him out in the open road where anyone could walk by and see. 

“Think there’s only going to five,” Geralt assured him, pushing in harder as he spun his fingers, pressing against something inside of him that caused him to cry out. Geralt seemed to have realized what he had done, for he pressed over and over again, relentless as Jaskier spread for him, cock straining as he tried to push him away as the pleasure became overwhelming. “Tell me.” He reached underneath him, wrapping a hand around his neglected cock as Jaskier was practically crying with how much he needed to cum. “What do you want?” 

“You,” Jaskier replied dumbly, screaming as he was rewarding with furthered fingers. “Always...Geralt just…”

“Ask me,” Geralt demanded, pulling his fingers out, leaving him empty and aching as he continued to pump his cock. “Come now, bard, I’ve never seen you at a loss for words.” 

Jaskier tried to press back against him, rubbing desperately against the head of Geralt’s cock, realizing how big he actually was now that it was pressed against him. “My white wolf...my butcher...my fucking witcher…” Jaskier glanced back, and moaned at the utter want he saw on Geralt’s face. “Ravish me...claim me...own me...but for all things holy...just fuck me.” 

Geralt reacted then, grabbing Jaskier by the hips as he lifted him up into the air. He leaned back on his knees, lowering him backwards onto his cock, lowering him inch by inch as he turned his face to kiss him once again and swallow up his pain as he was split open. 

They kissed desperately as Jaskier realized the hurriedness of their situation. Geralt hadn’t even discarded his shirt. His pants were down around his thighs as he had been too fevered to bother in his need. It made the pain almost bearable to think that he had caused the Butcher of Blaviken to be reduced to such a state. 

The pain didn’t last long. Jaskier had always been sensitive to pain versus pleasure, and the lines started to blur as Geralt lowered him up and down on his cock, fucking him hard, that enormous organ pressing so deep inside of him he could practically feel it in his belly. He reached behind him, pulling him close as sharp teeth sunk into his shoulder, marking him before sucking on his neck as he pounded inside him. 

Geralt made a ruin of his neck and shoulder, Jaskier crying out in ungodly pleasure as he marked him, cock bouncing against his belly as the slap of skin was deafening in the still of the night. 

The witcher shifted while inside him, and Jaskier was convinced he might split open yet again as he reached back to feel that organ sliding in and out of him. His voice was a string of moans and praises as with a shift he was once again pressing against the bundle inside of him, and Jaskier knew nothing after that beyond the witcher’s cock. 

He didn’t know how long it lasted, only that when he finally came it was in rivelets that splashed his chin, and caused Geralt to let out a groan behind him as warmth flooded his insides. His vision whited out as he collapsed back against him. 

Jaskier was gasping for breath, hardly able to comprehend the apologetic kisses being pressed all over his neck, or to how Geralt’s arms were wrapped almost desperately tight around him. He turned his head, moaning as he met his witcher’s mouth in a sloppy kiss. He cupped his cheek, laying their foreheads together as he finally opened his grey eyes to meet molten yellow. “Geralt—”

“I’m sorry,” Geralt interrupted him, kissing him again. “I never meant it. I was angry over Yennefer, but I shouldn’t have sent you away. I’m so sorry Jas,” he spoke, before kissing him again almost desperately, and Jaskier had no choice but to follow his witcher’s call. 

Geralt of Rivia...number five with a mallet. 

,.,.,.,.,.,.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise there will eventually be plot to this story, but until then, I hope you enjoyed the smut.


	5. King Lannamar

Chapter 5: King Lannamar

Geralt watched the bard curiously. He had been awake for over an hour in their bedroll, and he was just staring up at the morning sky. He had gotten up even earlier to catch them breakfast, and he was currently cooking a hare over the flame as Jaskier continued to watch the clouds. 

The witcher’s eyes traveled up the only half covered frame, frowning at the mess he had left on his neck. Had he been too rough, was that the problem? Was Jaskier regretting it now that he knew what it was like to be with him? Though, that wasn’t necessarily true. He had never been as rough with Yennefer. He had never taken any of the whores like he had taken his bard. Never felt the need to brand himself on their flesh. 

Jaskier was different. 

Jaskier was flippant, and easy to anger. 

He changed lovers, like a woman changed her hair. 

“Are you hungry?” he questioned, over pretending to not know the other was awake. Jaskier didn’t move, continuing to stare up at the sky. Geralt frowned at the behavior, not liking how quiet the bard was being. Had he wronged him? The other had fallen asleep pressed against his chest. He hadn’t seemed upset, though, perhaps that had all been the adrenaline of the act itself. “Jas?” Jaskier did look over at him at that, grey eyes studying him by the fire. Geralt raised an eyebrow in question, pulling the hare from the flames as he waved it towards him. 

“Witcher?” Jaskier questioned, and his voice was timid, almost trembling.

“Bard?” Geralt asked right back, taking a bite of the meat, and licking the grease from his lips. 

Jaskier sighed at that, sitting up and reaching down to do up the ties to his trousers. He pushed up still shirtless, walking over slowly to where Geralt was standing. He watched as Jaskier’s fingers twitched at his sides, lifting slightly as if to reach out, before falling back to his side. “I’ll get some water.” 

Geralt frowned again, putting down the rabbit, before he yanked the bard’s arm to him, his other hand clasping the back of his hair as he pulled him down to his lips. Jaskier immediately melted into him, arms wrapping around him as the bard’s talented tongue pushed into his mouth. Jaskier still smelled like him. His scent was etched into his skin, and Geralt moaned possessively at the thought as he pulled the other into his lap. 

Jaskier’s skin was softer than most women he’d bedded. He smelled better too, that clove oil saturating his pores. His hand spanned up that creamy back, ending with cupping the back of the other’s thighs as he encouraged the way he rolled his hips. 

When he pulled back he smiled faintly at the way the bard’s eyes were still shut, breathless and wanting from just a kiss. “Good morning,” he managed to say, before Jaskier lunged back forward to kiss him again. 

The musician’s hands tangled in his hair as he slowly pulled away, laying their foreheads together. “Good morning,” he replied, smiling as he stared without fear into his yellow eyes. “Does this mean I get to ride on Roach with you today?” 

Geralt’s hands rubbed along his thighs, to grip the ass he had been buried in the night before. “If you think you can stand it.” 

He sighed as Jaskier lazily kissed him again, the bard affectionate when he was happy. “I can stand it,” he managed, punctuating the statement with a roll of his hips. 

His yellow eyes examined Jaskier, trying to read his mind as he encouraged the heated roles of those hips. “Are we okay?” The hips stopped, and Geralt frowned as he saw those lust filled eyes turn distant. 

“Right,” Jaskier smiled at him, but it didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Your penance.” 

The bard slipped off his lap, and Geralt frowned as he turned away from him, scrambling for his tunic. “Jas?” he questioned as the musician began to hum. “Jaskier?” 

“We need to get going, right?” the bard asked, beginning to roll up the one bed roll they had found the need to use last night. “Murderous kings aren’t going to stop themselves.” 

Geralt decided not to push it, having experienced more than a few times what it meant when he pushed Jaskier’s moods over the edge. “I’ll finish,” he stated, handing over the rest of the rabbit. The command to eat left unspoken between them, just like whatever it was that was going through Jaskier’s mind. 

When they were finished packing Geralt watched in amusement the way the musician watched Roach questioningly. “Think she’s going to bite you?” he mused, coming to stand behind him, hands gripping his hips as he leaned down to kiss along his bruised neck. He smirked at the way Jaskier shuddered with desire against him. 

“I could walk…” he started, before Geralt lifted him by the hips and pushed him up onto Roach. 

The other was sputtering as he righted himself on the horse, so Geralt took that time to gracefully mount himself behind him, kicking off before he had a chance to argue. He let the silence grow between them for over an hour, before finally growling in frustration. He yanked the other close, one hand on the reins, and the other on Jaskier’s thigh as he leaned down into his ear. “I hesitate to ask this, but what exactly is your problem?” 

Jaskier inhaled, as if hesitating with himself, fingertips tracing along Geralt’s hand on his thigh. “It’s fine you know. You don’t have to do this to earn my forgiveness. I put up a big stink about it, but you know...well you know…” 

“That you’re confusing?” Geralt questioned, thumb swiping along his inner thigh. “I was aware.” 

The bard finally smiled for the first time that morning, shaking his head. “I’m not, truly I’m not. It’s very obvious, isn’t it?” he glanced back at him, free hand petting Roach’s mane. “If it was just a pity fuck, than I’m okay with that. I never hoped to even get this much from you, but you don’t have to keep trying. I would have forgiven you without getting the honor of your well endowed witcher skills.” 

“You think I fucked you last night to get you to forgive me?” Geralt actually laughed, pulling him closer. “You’re an idiot, bard.” 

“So,” Jaskier started after a while, looking straight forward as the back of his neck reddened. “To be clear. Will it happen again?” 

“Will I fuck you again?” Geralt asked, just to make sure they were being clear as Jaskier’s neck got even redder. “Shy? Really? After the filth coming out of your mouth last night?” He raised an eyebrow as he felt Jaskier’s cock twitch next to his palm. 

Geralt slowed Roach to a trot, keeping one hand tight on the reins, before letting his other hand loosen up Jaskier’s trousers and slip inside as he grabbed for that hardening cock. 

The bard reacted immediately, arching that back up against him as hands wrapped around his neck from behind. “Geralt…” that perfect throat moaned, and the witcher took the ample space offered up to him to bite at the already bruised flesh as his hand began to pump in his trousers. 

He steered the reins to the side of the road as Roach whinnied with her disapproval. His hand pumped faster in those pants as they came to a stop. He slid off the horse, hands coming off the bard only long enough for the other to pounce on him to get off the horse.

He caught Jaskier mid leap, their mouths crashing almost violently together as the musician’s legs wrapped tight on his hips. Lust consumed his thought process as he glanced around to the wooded area they were traveling on, stumbling towards the nearest tree and slamming Jaskier roughly against it. 

Jaskier, for his part, didn’t seem to mind as he pulled Geralt back to his mouth, kissing desperately as his nails dug into his back. His hands wrapped around those legs, ripping them off of him and setting the other down for only long enough to rip those pants down passed his skinny waist, before hefting him back up onto his hips. 

He worked between their bodies, his hand slightly trapped as he pulled out his own cock, meeting those lust filled grey eyes as he positioned himself between his thighs. He kissed apologies onto Jaskier’s lips as he couldn’t wait to prepare him as he pushed all the way in to the hilt. 

Jaskier broke apart from the kiss at that, mouth falling open in surprise as he adjusted, but Geralt didn’t want to waste another second, couldn’t stop himself from pulling out and plunging in yet again as he slammed him up against the tree. 

“Okay?” he asked his bard, finding the spot on his neck to bite again as his hips began to pump into that tight hole, pleasure spiking through him. 

“Okay,” Jaskier echoed, a keening moan leaving him as he threw his head back. He glanced down, watching his cock going into the other, wanting to claim him. Wanting to mark him as he had never felt this way about any of the women he had ever taken in his hundred years. 

Jaskier ripped at his hair to get him back to his mouth, and Geralt obeyed, hips continuing to piston inside him as they rutted against his tree just barely off the trail. He couldn’t think about how foolish it was to do this out in the open. He couldn’t consider what it meant that he literally hadn’t been able to keep his hands off of him for a single day on the trail. Hell, they had only made it about an hour. 

He’d be sure to fuck Jaskier before they got on the horse from now on. 

He slammed into him a few more times, before emptying himself like an excited teenager who couldn’t last more than a few minutes. He was actually surprised he had lasted as long as he had, needing to cum the moment Jaskier had allowed him to grab his cock. 

Glancing between them, the sticky mess told him the bard had cum, as did the clenched muscles, and the absolute look of bliss on that face as he continued to pump his hips. He leaned in then, making sure to draw Jaskier’s blown pupils to meet his. “It’s going to happen again,” he stated. 

Jaskier gave a shaky laugh, motioning between them. “Yeah witcher, I noticed.” 

~*~

Jaskier slammed two beers in front of Geralt, sliding down in front of him as he looked around. “Which one is he?” They had been traveling for four days, and had finally arrived in Novigrad. Things between them had been...well...heated. He thought about their nights they had spent on the road where he had fallen asleep with the witcher’s cock still inside him, absolutely exhausted from a marathon session. Or to the morning he had woken up to Geralt laying kissies along the back of his ear almost sweetly, or to the way they sometimes kissed like there was no one else in the world. 

“The one at the bar,” Geralt answered, eyes hard and locked on the man he had motioned to with a slight tilt of his chin. “Dressed like a peasant to avoid notice.” 

“Huh…” Jaskier remarked, eyes roaming over this supposed king. “He’s younger than I thought.” King Lannamar had sandy blond hair, pale skin, and the brightest blue eyes he had ever seen. His body was fit, even under the peasant rags he was wearing. His jaw was strong, dignified. “He’s gorgeous. Hang on,” Jaskier glanced confused over at Geralt. “King Lannamar should be in his late forties, right?” He had ruled over Novigrad since his father had been killed in battle with Cintra. 

“56 to be exact,” Geralt pointed out, eyes still fixed on Lannamar. 

“No way,” Jaskier shook his head in disbelief. “That can’t be him, Geralt. That man can’t be out of his twenties.” 

“You’re one to speak on how a person should age.” Geralt remarked, and Jaskier turned to him in question. 

“Huh?” he asked in confusion, the confusion growing as he saw the way the witcher slowly shook his head.

“Nevermind, bard.” 

“So, he comes to the pub, picks up a lady, and then they disappear?” Jaskier questioned, not understanding what Geralt was implying, and so choosing to move on from it. 

“That’s the rumor.” 

“And he’s seeking someone to help him woo his queen?” He shrugged. “Well, no time like the present.” He grabbed for his lute and beer, smiling playfully at Geralt as he slipped out of the booth. 

“Jaskier!” He heard hissed from behind him, but he had already strummed his lute and began to play. 

“Ah De Do Ah De Do Da Day, Ah De Do Ah De A. He whistled and he sang till the green woods rang, and he won the heart of a lady.” 

Jaskier sang an entire set, the bar lightening up as the drink flowed and the music spread. He had just gotten done with the Last Rose of Cintra, when his throat was too parched to continue, and he had seen he had caught the eye of the man he had come to meet. 

He was panting by the time he got to the bar, wiping at his brow as he flung his lute over his shoulder, trying to catch the barkeep’s eyes. “Can you believe that?” 

“What?” Lannamar asked, looking at him in question. He was tall like Geralt, though lean where his witcher was all muscles. 

“I entertain the bar, and I can’t even get myself a proper drink.” He motioned to the one in front of the king. “You don’t seem to have that problem. Mind compelling me one of my own?” 

“Sorry,” the king spoke, voice apologetic. “I’ve barely the coin for my own drink.” 

“Oh?” Jaskier questioned. “Do you leave it all back at home then, along with your fancy clothes?” Lannamar stiffened, and Jaskier made sure to shoot him his very best disarming smile. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.” 

“You’re mistaken,” the king tried, causing Jaskier to snort in disbelief.

“Oh, I’m really not.” He motioned down to himself. “Look at me, do you think I dress this way, and still don’t know how to spot royalty? Who do you think pays for all the silk?” 

Blue eyes traveled along his frame. “You’re very bold.” 

“I’m a musician,” Jaskier replied, as if that were explanation enough. “So about that drink?” 

Lannamar’s mouth was slightly agape as he watched him, before shifting in his stool and ordering two more. Jaskier placed two crowns in front of the barkeep from his performance. “Keep em coming.” When he looked over to see Lannamar raising a brow in question he felt the need to give an explanation. “I’m parched.” He shrugged. “Drink up and be merry, tis a good night to be alive.” he stated, cheersing with the king. 

Jaskier downed half his ale out of thirst, smiling warmly at Lannamar as he tried not to think about the fact that Geralt had told him he was responsible for dozens of missing villagers. “So why the get up?” he asked, having a feeling the answer wouldn’t be murder. 

The king looked down at himself, frowning as he seemed to consider how much to tell him. “You wouldn’t understand.” 

“That’s a cop out,” Jaskier replied. “You going to tell me that because you’re royal, and I’m not, that I couldn’t possibly understand the need to escape?” He swung his lute around, strumming along the strings. “What do you think all this is about?” 

“And what could you possibly have to escape from….Dandelion, was it?” the king asked, and Jaskier knew he had him on the hook. 

He sighed, sinking down on a stool next to him as he placed his chin in both his palms. “Unrequited love mostly,” he said with a sigh. “I write about the things I shall never have. Sometimes I even write well enough to fool my way into it from time to time.” 

“Into it?” Lannamar asked in question. 

“Love,” Jaskier grinned. “Sometimes it even feels real, but there’s really only ever been the one.” 

“It didn’t work out?” Lannamar grabbed a pitcher, refilling his drink. 

Jaskier shrugged, eyes flickering across the room to where Geralt was sitting, finding him missing as he must have gone off for a bath upstairs. Jaskier had bought it for him when they had gotten here. 

“Still deciding,” he replied. “What about you? What kind of women do kings fall in love with?” 

“That’s a novel idea,” Lannamar replied. “A king marrying for love.” 

“For position then,” Jaskier shrugged. “You must still get somewhat of a choice in courting the desired specimen.” 

Lannmar tilted his head, his shaggy blond hair falling along his ear. “Suppose I do. Suppose you already knew that though.” He took a drink, the foam sticking to his upper lip. “You’ve heard about my problem, I gather?” 

“I’m good at solving problems,” Jaskier replied, eyes locked with those bright blue depths. 

“I’m sure you’re good at many things,” Lannamar surmised. “Did you write all those songs you were singing?” 

“Every one,” Jaskier assured him. 

“And they were about the one you love?” Lannamar asked, curiosity sparked in his eyes. 

“The one I love? All the songs I write are about him.” he said without shame. 

“Him?” Lannamar replied with surprise. “Bold of you to say so.” 

“Musician,” Jaskier replied again in explanation. 

Lannamar snorted into his drink, flashing him a brilliant grin that Jaskier was sure all of the people who served him quelled under. “I like you.”

Jaskier bowed. “Thank you sire, as it happens, I’m quite likable.” 

“Drink with me tonight. I find myself longing for conversation with someone who doesn’t just try to kiss my ass...even if you do happen to be angling for a job.” 

“Always angling for something,” Jaskier assured him, holding up his glass. “But I promise you my wittiest conversation, in return for your favor.” 

“My favor you have already,” Lannamar replied. “My trust you’ll have to earn before I hire you for the job.” 

“I haven’t told anyone here who you are, does that not earn me the slightest bit of trust?” Jaskier questioned. 

“The slightest,” Lannamar agreed. “But you’ll have to do better than that.” Lannamar raised his mug. “To new friends?” 

Jaskier gave his best seductive grin, holding up his own glass. “To poetry that makes a heart bloom, and the kingdom of Novigrad move in the right direction.” 

By the time Jaskier stumbled up the stairs to their room he was well and stinking drunk. He had gone beyond the point of the giggly stage, and had well entered the drooling sex stage that always seemed to get him in trouble. 

He slammed open the door to their room a little more loudly than he had meant, practically falling over as he did as he was stifling his laughter. Well...not quite out of the giggling stage it would seem. He struggled to get out of his clothes, throwing a boot across the room, actually falling as he worked on the second. He popped up a second later, grinning from ear to ear at the way Geralt was glowering at him. 

“I”m okay, don’t worry!” He doubted the look of contempt was concern, but you could never be too sure at times like these. He slipped out of his pants, unlacing his shirt as he slipped it over his head as well. He was still smirking as he crawled into the bed, ignoring how stiff Geralt was as he crawled on top of him, seeking out his lips. 

“Ow ow ow!” he cried out as Geralt ripped him away by the hair. “I’m sensitive!”

“You’re truly something,” Geralt agreed, and Jaskier blinked confused at him as his voice was cold as ice. 

“I’m sorry I woke you,” Jaskier tried, face lilting in a pout as he leaned back in, one hand working to pry the fingers out of his hair as he kissed his regret along that strong jaw set into a hard line. “You smell so good...Your hair smells like vanilla.” He buried his face in the witcher’s neck, sucking on his pulse as his hand traveled underneath the sheet. 

His hand was ripped from under the sheet before it could reach its target, Geralt yanking him again up by his hair. “Ow!” he barked again, shoving up by pressing against his chest. “Okay I get it…no touching.” He sat up on the other’s hips. “What’s wrong?” The death glare he received caused a bit more sobriety to fill his veins. “Wolf?” he asked, leaning down without being able to help himself, placing a soft kiss on his lips. “I’m sorry I woke you.” 

“Do you actually think this is about being woken up?” Geralt questioned, ripping him up again so he could stare into bleary drunk eyes. 

“Maybe?” Jaskier asked, pushing up again, fingers tracing along a jagged scar along Geralt’s chest. 

“How’s Lannamar?” Geralt questioned with a frown, and Jaskier had a feeling he was walking into a trap, he just didn’t know which one. 

“Fine?” he replied nervously, thumb flicking over Geralt’s nipple, and watching a vein twitch in his neck in response. “I was invited to the castle tomorrow.” 

He actually swallowed in fear as Geralt bared sharp teeth at him, his eyes flashing gold. “Oh, I bet you were.” 

Jaskier looked from side to side, utterly confused now. “Geralt? Is that not what you wanted me to do?” He had done what the witcher had asked. He had won the king’s trust for the poetry writing job. 

“Get off me,” Geralt bit out, leaving Jaskier to stare down dumbfounded. 

“What?” Insecurity bubbled up his spine. “What did I do wrong exactly?” 

“Get. Off. Me.” Geralt repeated through clenched teeth. “I won’t ask again.” 

“You’re angry with me for Lannamar?” Jaskier asked in confusion. “I was doing what you asked of me.” 

“I know,” Geralt bit out, glaring up at him. 

“You asked me to get myself hired!” Jaskier exclaimed, stomach twisted with anxiety as he knew he had messed up. He had been walking on eggshells the entire week they had traveled. He had done everything possible to not annoy the witcher. He had been dreading the day it was no longer a novel idea to fuck him. 

“I said I know!” Geralt snapped. Hands coming to his hips to rip him off, but Jaskier covered his hands, digging his knees down into the witcher’s biceps. 

“You’re jealous?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as Geralt didn’t deny it. “It was an act! Of course it was an act! That’s what I do, witcher, I act!” 

“Do you?” Geralt questioned back bitterly. “Good to know.” 

“Not with you,” Jaskier blurted out, letting something slip that he would never dare say sober. “I don’t act with you. I adore you.” 

The hands on his hips had loosened, but Geralt’s face was still a mask of ice. “This was a mistake.” 

It was like ice water had been poured down his spine. He bit his bottom lip to hide the pain, feeling more than a little foolish as he scrambled back and off of the man. “I’m such an idiot.” He had let himself slip. He knew better than to show his desperation for the man. He knew better than to tell him how he felt. 

“Bard,” Geralt spoke from the bed, and Jaskier flinched as he only ever called him that in rebuke. “Don’t go.” 

Jaskier froze, clothes pressed to his chest in a bunch as his foot was halfway inside a boot. “Why?” he questioned, back to the witcher. 

Geralt was silent for a long time as Jaskier pulled on his trousers over his half on boots. “We only have the one room.” Jaskier felt like the air had been knocked out of him, letting out a gasp of disbelief. 

“Don’t worry butcher, I have coin enough for another.” He didn’t dare look back as he refused to show his pain over something so stupid. He refused to show his pain over letting himself be comfortable, and knowing he could never be enough for his witcher.   
,.,.,.,.,.,.,,.,.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geralt is a stubborn idiot...
> 
> Hope you all are doing okay right now! I'll try to update more frequently to keep you all entertained while in quarantine. Hope you enjoyed the update!


	6. Like Magic

Chapter 6: Like Magic 

Jaskier’s head hurt. 

No, it didn’t just hurt. It was pounding. 

He’d been hungover in his life, but there was hungover...and then there was the point where you were wishing for death. He had messed up. He had messed up everything with Geralt. He understood that the witcher was disgusted with him. Why wouldn’t he be? He had been flirting with a suspected murderer. However, he had just been doing it because he had asked him to. It’s not as if he wanted to sleep with Lannamar. He had thought he had made it painfully obvious who it was he wanted to sleep with from day one. 

Jaskier clung to his hair, leaning over the porridge that had been slopped out of the bowl. He was seriously debating the probability of puking if he tried to get any of the thick gelatinous substance down. 

He was an idiot. He had let himself get comfortable around Geralt. He had forgotten what had happened the last time. He wouldn’t make the same mistake. Geralt didn’t want a drunken mess drooling all over him, and Jaskier didn’t want someone willing to toss him out on his ass in the middle of the night to go sleep with the horses. 

“Not off to Lannamar’s?” Geralt questioned, coming down the stairs of the pub as Jaskier’s eyes snapped up from his grainy slop. 

He frowned at the witcher who seemed to have dark circles under his eyes. “Never scheme before breakfast as a general rule.” 

“Naturally,” Geralt agreed, sinking in next to him. Jaskier’s stomach was swimming in nervousness as the other reached out and grabbed a piece of straw from his hair. “How’s Roach?” 

Jaskier frowned at that, cheeks heating in embarrassment as he fought the urge to swipe at his hair. “A good deal nicer than you, I would say,” he bit out, forcefully taking a bite to land in his sour stomach. 

Geralt snorted, rolling his eyes as he grabbed for the porridge. He pulled the spoon out of Jaskier’s hands and took a bite of the tasteless nutrition. “We need to talk.” 

A frown came to his face at those words, reaching out to sip at the coffee he had managed to finagle this morning. “Let me guess...it’s over, right?” He looked down at the table. “It’s alright. You really don’t have to go through the trouble.”

“Over?” Geralt questioned. “What are you talking about?” He leaned in, frustration covering his face. “Jaskier we’re not…”

“Geralt!” Jaskier’s focus was broken away from Geralt at the sound of the voice entering the tavern. 

They weren’t, what? Over? A couple? Compatible? 

More importantly...who was this woman? She had long luscious red hair, pale skin, and was beautiful enough that Jaskier knew she had been carved like all those sorceresses. Great...another witch. Geralt seemed to attract them. 

“Triss?” the witcher questioned, pushing up from the table as he rushed over to the witch. “What are you doing here?” Jaskier’s eyebrow rose at the almost panicked worry on Geralt’s face. “Is she alright?” 

Triss sighed, shaking her head as she pressed her palms to his chest. “She broke her leg.” 

“Fuck,” Geralt’s eyes were murderous. “How did you let this happen?” 

Triss’ mouth fell open at the assumption, rage coming to her features. “How did I let this happen?” she asked incredulously. “You run off and leave me saddled with your feral child, who I have to adamantly try to not let her kill herself in witcher training that you convinced her she needs!” 

Princess Cirilla of Cintra.

The white wolf’s child surprise. 

“She is perfectly safe. I ran through all of those same obstacles,” Geralt argued. 

“Yes,” Triss agreed. “And look how you turned out!” 

Jaskier grinned behind his hand. He sort of liked her. 

Geralt bared his teeth in frustration, and to Jaskier’s surprise, Triss stood her ground as he glowered down at her. “For just one day, I would like for there not to be someone accusing me of being a monster. Just one!” Those yellow eyes turned towards him. “Jaskier, this is Triss Merigold.” 

The bard frowned at the name, having heard it before. Everyone had these days. “Triss Merigold died at Sodden Hill. I’ve seen her grave.” 

Triss shrugged, tossing the long red braid over her shoulder. “Rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated.” 

“So I see,” Jaskier managed, looking between them both. Geralt had Triss helping with Ciri? He trusted her that much to leave her at Kaer Morhen with his child? He hadn’t left Yennefer, who would have clearly been more fit to train the lion cub. He had chosen Triss, a woman who was supposed to have died at Sodden Hill where so many of her comrades had perished. She hadn’t died, however. She had found Geralt and his cub instead. 

Her eyes trailed over him, and he rose an eyebrow at her speculation. “You’re the bard who wrote all the songs about him, are you not?” 

“He’s a good source of inspiration,” Jaskier admitted. 

Triss gave a sharp laugh. “He is that. Yennefer hatttteddd you.” She shrugged. “I can see why now.” 

“My charming personality?” Jaskier questioned, noticing the way Geralt had stiffened at the mention of his witch. 

“Something like that,” Triss agreed, amused smirk on her face as she glanced almost wistfully over at Geralt. “Suppose I never stood a chance.” 

“Triss,” Geralt hissed, that same bared snarl still on his face. He must really be worried about Ciri. “That’s enough.” 

She scoffed, waving her hand. “Fine fine...have your secrets.” Triss crossed her arms as she looked at him. “She doesn’t want to wait to heal. She’s being difficult, and to honest I think that Eskel and Lambert are at their wits end.” 

Geralt scoffed. “They adore her.” 

“They adore their peace and quiet even more,” Triss argued. “She’s putting up quite a fuss. Seems to think she’ll fall behind in her training.” 

“And you couldn’t reason with her?” Geralt questioned. 

Triss rolled her eyes at the very assumption. “Have you ever known her to listen to reason?” 

“Hmm,” Geralt growled to himself, looking down in frustration. “It’s not a good time. I’m in the middle of a case.” 

“I’ll be sure to tell that to your daughter when her leg gets sepsis and rots off,” the witch countered. 

“That isn’t fair,” the witcher argued. 

“No,” Triss agreed. “It isn’t. But it’s what needs to happen. Leave whatever you’re working on. Your obsession over your hunts is nothing compared to her obsession to please you. She will break every bone in her body and keep going, rather than risk disappointing you.” The frown on her face increased. “Don’t disappoint her.” 

Jaskier took another bite of porridge, bile rising up his throat as he attempted not to vomit. “Geralt, you might as well go. It’s not like you can do much for a bit anyways. You weren’t invited into the castle.” 

Both sets of eyes rounded on him, one in frustration, and the other in amusement. Geralt cracked his neck as he watched him. “I’m not leaving you with a suspected murderer.” 

“Why?” Jaskier questioned. “What were you planning on doing? Grabbing some pitons and scaling the castle walls?” He shook his head at the assumption. “It’s your kid, wolf. You’ve got to go.” 

“The song bird does bring up a good point.” Triss walked over to the porridge, waving her hand over the bowl as she winked at him. “Try it now. I think it might help.” 

Jaskier hesitantly took a bite, sighing in bliss as the nausea and headache faded, leaving him refreshed for the morning. He looked up gratefully at the witch. “That’s a wonderful trick.”

“Magic never gets old,” she stated as a fact. “Just want you at your best for your apparent mission.” 

“Fuck,” Geralt growled underneath his breath. “Bard, walk with me to Roach. We’ll go over the plan until I can get back.” 

Jaskier grinned at Triss as he slipped out of his chair, carrying his bowl over to the counter. “He’s bossy in the morning. Think it’s cause he’s sober.” Triss laughed at the joke, shooting an amused glance in the witcher’s direction. 

“Jas,” Geralt snapped, clearly frustrated as he motioned them out. 

“I heard you the first time,” he teased him, beyond grateful that the sickness was at least gone as the anxiety of having to do this without the white wolf was starting to creep in. 

Jaskier rubbed at the back of his head as he followed Geralt towards the stables. He could feel the tension in the air, not knowing if it was his fear about what happened to Ciri, or what had happened between them last night. If he had to guess, he didn’t rank that high in importance levels towards the witcher, and so he was leaning towards Ciri. “I’m sure she’s alright.” 

“I’m sure she’s driving Vesemir up a wall. She hates to sit still,” Geralt murmured, leading them into the stables. “So which pen did you sleep in?” 

Jaskier spun on him, rolling his eyes as he saw the way Geralt was grinning despite how frustrated he seemed to be. “I’m so glad that my discomfort amuses you.” 

Geralt shook his head, mouth still tilted in amusement. “It was just completely asinine of you to leave our room and come sleep with the horses.” 

His spine stiffened at the words, whatever levity had been between them gone as a mask covered his face. “Forgive me, what with you throwing a jealous fit and tossing me out, I couldn’t really focus on where to bed down for the night.” 

“You left when I told you to stay,” Geralt argued. “You never listen to me. Just like I know you won’t listen now if I ask you to come to Kaer Morhen.” 

“Right, so why ask? Does it feel better?” Jaskier questioned as Geralt growled in frustration. “I got Lannamar’s attention, witcher. If I go now then it will have all been pointless. We will not get this opportunity again.” 

“You don’t care about this hunt,” Geralt pointed out. “Why would you put yourself in danger where I can’t protect you?” 

Jaskier shrugged. “I’ve always had a knack for putting myself in danger, and despite what you think, I’m good at this kind of thing.” 

“I searched you out for the job. I wasn’t implying that you weren’t,” Geralt argued. 

“What were you implying then?” Jaskier asked, not referring to what was happening. “Last night. Did you think I was going to let him fuck me? The way I let you?” 

Geralt inhaled deep to try to quell his temper, but then seemed to decide against it as he stepped closer, grabbing both of his arms as he yanked him close. “I don’t imagine anyone is going to be fucking you...the way I do.” 

“Did,” Jaskier corrected, remembering when he said they were a mistake. 

“I used the correct tense, bard. I may not be as fluent in words as you, but I know what present tense is.” Geralt assured him, one hand traveling to his hip, and the other sliding into his hair. “I only ask one more time. Come with me. We’ll figure out what to do with Lannamar when we get back.” 

Jaskier was in trouble, because at hearing the words, and feeling those fingers trace along the skin of his hip bone, his head became muddled. He wanted to agree. He wanted to do anything his wolf asked of him. 

But what would that make him?

How would they last if he became boring to a man who might as well be immortal? 

“We have our in, witcher.” Jaskier said with finality. “Go be with Ciri. Let me do this.” And prove he was worth a damn to be in his life. “I can help you.” He reached up, fingertips tracing along the strong jaw that was currently clenched in anger. “I don’t just want to be the source of everything bad in your life.” 

Yennefer helped him. He relied on her. She could hold her own. 

Geralt seemed to be debating with himself, before he reached up and pulled the hands away from his face. “You’re infuriating.” He moved to walk away, but paused in his steps, turning back around with a sigh. “Be careful,” he exhaled, clearly struggling. “Don’t do anything foolish.” 

Jaskier smiled at the worry in that tone. “You know me wolf, nothing foolish.” 

The witcher rolled his eyes at the thought, but the heavy handed tension appeared to have dissipated. “Jas....be careful,” he repeated, this time more serious as he grabbed at Roach’s reins to lead her out to the trail. 

“Tell your surprise I said hi,” Jaskier said flippantly, feeling like there was a hole eating at his stomach. Why wasn’t he going? Why was he pushing some hunt he didn’t even care about? Why did he always have to be so stubborn? 

“She’ll be sad she missed you,” Geralt said, gritting his teeth as he turned from him, and Jaskier did everything he could to prevent reaching after him as the witcher saddled Roach, and rode out to meet Triss. He tried not to think of the fact that he had backed himself into a corner where he was going to a castle alone to face down a murderer. He tried not to think about the fact that he’d much rather be with his witcher instead.   
,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.


	7. In the Midst of the Festivities

Chapter 7: In the Midst of the Festivities 

Jaskier lounged back on the daybed, tossing a grape into his mouth as he worked on his latest poem. Lannamar’s sunroom allowed for the perfect amount of light to work. It had been three months since he had come to the castle. Three months since his wolf had ridden off like the gallant hero he was to save his cub. Three months and no word from the witcher on if he ever planned on coming back. 

Lannamar had turned out to be an overly generous host. Upon agreeing to write poetry and songs to woo the one he wished to court, the king had given him everything he could ever ask for. He had been provided with the king’s favor upon agreeing to this arrangement to win Lady Aurelia’s hand. 

He ate another grape, glancing down at the deep plum colors he had been decked out in, wearing the colors of the noble line employing him. The clothes were made of the finest silks and satans. He had been preened and pampered...given everything he could ever ask for to inspire his creative mind as he had been tasked with winning the heart of the lady. 

Lannamar was courteous. He invited him to dine with him. They shared stories of the court he now found himself part of. It was very easy to distract himself for the real reason he had come here. It was easy to ignore that he was supposed to be looking for signs of his host murdering dozens of women. 

It was easy to forget that for a few cosmic days on the road, Geralt had shared his bed. Like all things in his life, it hadn’t taken him long to screw that up. In truth, he didn’t really even expect him to return. Sure there was his hunt, but there was also the opportunity for the witcher to cut his losses. He had asked Jaskier to go with him. He had asked him to leave, and he had said no. 

There really wasn’t any going back to being pressed together in some dumpy inn bed after that. He had missed his shot. He had missed a lot of things. It’s not as if it wasn’t something he was used to. It’s not as if he hadn’t spent years between meeting up with Geralt in the past. Ciri needed training, and there were plenty of other hunts for murderous fiends. The hunt had always just been an excuse to get Jaskier to start talking to him anyways. He wasn’t delusional enough to think any different. 

Besides, he rather enjoyed being the person responsible for securing a political union. It was romantic in a sense. He poured all of the things he wanted to say to Geralt into the words he wrote to Princess Aurelia. Aurelia sent back her praise in the form of love letters to Lannamar, and he considered just what the wolf would say to such sentiments being sung into his ear. 

He would probably tell him he was stupid...or a simpering moron. 

Alas, Jaskier doubted at this point that he would ever get the chance to know. He wondered how Geralt was doing in Kaer Morhen. He wondered if he missed him. He wondered how he could have possibly been so stupid as to let him go. 

“Are we ready for the feast tomorrow?” Jaskier was startled out of his conversation as the king waltzed into the room, leaning down to grab for a grape. 

“Of course, your majesty,” Jaskier agreed cordially. “I daresay once she hears the songs you wrote for her that she’ll be powerless to refuse.” 

Lannamar grinned in approval, sinking down next to him and grabbing for the scrawled out draft. He read over the words to the song, raising an eyebrow before turning gorgeous blue eyes his way. “A bit more maudlin than your normal stuff.” 

“Perhaps I’m feeling particularly devastating?” Jaskier questioned, not willing to admit how much he had been missing the witcher as he poured his soul into the song for another. 

“I wouldn’t dream of holding back any of your devastation, Dandelion.” Lannamar handed back the paper. “I should be able to propose soon.” 

“That’s the plan,” Jaskier agreed. “If everything works out.” 

“You’ll make sure it does.” It wasn’t said as a request as Lannamar got back to his feet. “I do enjoy your company, but I tire of this cat and mouse game.” 

“Three months isn’t too terribly long for a courtship,” Jaskier argued, being more than well aware of the king’s need for instant gratification. 

“You’ll find I can get impatient when I want something,” Lannamar’s eyes scanned over his form. “I don’t like being told no.”

Jaskier swallowed nervously, recognizing the lustful stare. He had seen it enough from the patrons at the brothels he sang at. It had been a thing he had been skirting around for weeks now. Weeks while he waited for any sign from Geralt of an end game to this scenario. At this point he figured he was just going to have to go along with the entire plan and get the king engaged to his bride. It’s not as if he could slay any terrible beasty that might come his way. 

That’s what witchers were for. 

He would have to tell Geralt whenever he saw him again that he was failing in his duties. Then again, seeing Geralt was a wish of a much less wise man. He had seen that woman the wolf had left with...he always did have a thing for witches. 

“I’ll attempt not to incur your wrath then,” Jaskier managed to the fickle king. “Tell me, my lord, what ever will you do if Lady Aurelia says yes?” 

“I’ll get married,” Lannamar spoke. “Is that not every man’s dream?” 

Jaskier knitted his eyebrows as he thought about that. Perhaps for some, however… “It’s not my dream.”

“No?” Lannamar questioned, brow arched. “And what is your dream, Dandelion?” His tone spoke of sincerity, as if the future of some lowly bard actually made a difference to him. ...Honestly, it was probably just because he knew without him he’d never see Aurelia in his bed, let alone his crown. 

“Fortune and glory,” Jaskier answered without thinking, grinning up at the king as he grabbed for another grape. 

“Fortune and glory?” Lannamar questioned. “Are such things truly so important?” 

“For some that were not born into such,” Jaskier argued, brow twitching at the haughty tone. “For those that have known what it’s like to be truly poor in their lives.” 

“Have you wanted for so much?” the king questioned. 

“Have you wanted for anything at all?” Jaskier countered with, holding that dark gaze as he realized his slip and shrugged it off. “I really do have to get back to writing, my lord.” 

He felt that gaze on him for quite awhile, as if Lannamar were daring him to look up and acknowledge his slight. It made the spot between his shoulders ache with the need to shrug off the atrocity of the sin he had just committed. How dare he question a nobleman of his privilege? 

“I’ll leave you to it, Dandelion,” the king spoke finally. “As long as it’s ready by the festivities tonight.” 

“The festivities?” Jaskier asked. He had known the king was to be inviting a few dignitaries to dine, but he was told nothing about any happenings. 

“A feast,” Lannamar spoke simply. “In honor of my coming nuptials. You will ensure I have something to celebrate, correct?” 

“I wouldn’t dream of disappointing you,” Jaskier spoke, nodding to him as he popped another grape into his mouth. 

“You would dream it,” Lannamar argued, reaching for the grapes himself as he bit into one. “But it would be a nightmare for you.” 

“Noted,” Jaskier spoke without humor, keeping his eyes on the eligible bachelor as he walked away. Perhaps he should take a brighter tone with his song? It may very well be the difference between him keeping his head, or him requesting it be sent to Geralt as a well wish for getting him into this mess in the first place. 

*~*~*~*

Jaskier looked out on the crowd as he sang to the masses. The gathering King Lannamar had arranged had devolved into a row of drunken morons...usually Jaskier’s favorite. However, he couldn’t seem to get over the king’s thinly veiled warning. He had to impress…he had to impress or he may very well end up like all of those women Geralt had told him about. 

It’s not as if he had spent all of his time slacking off and writing. He had explored the castle grounds for any sign that Lannamar might be hiding a secret identity as a murderous psycho. The only clue he had was a locked stairwell in the north tower. Whatever it was sealed with was a formidable match for his lock picking skills...to which he had many of. 

It was the best match for a follow-up sleuthing scenario once he ever got the energy to be more productive, and less pissed off that he had been abandoned here like a sack of potatoes. ...A well kept sack of potatoes, mind you, but a sorry sack nonetheless. 

Jaskier finished with his set, swinging his lute onto his back as he grabbed for a passing cup of wine. He practically upended it as he didn’t realize his thirst. He would have to sing personally to Aurelia soon—if she ever arrived. He would have to sing a song about the one he loved to another, whilst pretending the words had come from someone else. The life of a musician was never uncomplicated. 

Finishing his drink, the bard moved through the alcoves to find the servant who had them a plenty just earlier. However, he hadn’t really been expecting the hand wrapped around his mouth that yanked him further into the darkness. He bit down hard on the meaty flesh as a second hand wrapped around his neck, lifting him up off the ground and pulling him further away from the party as he screamed into the palm blanketing his mouth. 

For his part, he fought for his life. His teeth tore into the flesh of the hand until he could taste blood. He heard a grunt of pain behind him as he was spun around and slammed up against the stone wall. Jaskier’s eyes widened almost comically to see a very polished, very pissed off, witcher standing in front of him, staring in disdain at the hand that was now currently dribbling blood on what Jaskier could only assume was a very expensive rug. 

“Well,” Geralt started, frowning as he reached out to Jaskier’s doublet and yanked on a silk handkerchief. “At least I know you’re not easily kidnapped.” 

“Geralt…” Jaskier spoke, voice beyond stunned as he took in his immaculately groomed appearance. 

“Hmm,” Geralt agreed, finishing wrapping his wound. 

“Geralt…” he repeated, feeling awestruck with just how much he had missed him. “What are you doing here?” 

“I happen to have misplaced an annoying bard. You haven’t seen him anywhere, have you?” Geralt questioned, half smirk coming to his face. “Watch yourself if you do see him. He tends to bite.” 

“How did you get in?” Jaskier questioned, mind running with a million scenarios of how they were going to have to take off running due to the pile of dead bodies. 

“It’s a party,” Geralt reminded him, motioning back toward the thrum of bodies in the great hall. “It was easy to just walk in.”

Jaskier nodded slowly. “You came back.” 

“Course I came back,” Geralt snapped almost instantaneously. The voracity actually took Jaskier off guard as he tilted his head to stare up at the brute as he stepped closer. “What do you mean by such a statement? Did you think I would leave you here?” 

He shrugged to the question, not realizing how relieved he was to have his wolf back. ...To know he had come back. “I never know what to think when it comes to you.” He didn’t—not when it came to Geralt. “Though I suppose…” he trailed off, not wanting to say the words he knew to be true. 

Geralt frowned at him, stepping even closer as he pushed him against the wall, causing the bard’s breath to hitch. “You suppose?” He grabbed at his chin with his injured hand, tilting it up to meet those eerie yellow eyes. “What do you suppose, bard?” 

Jaskier swallowed, his throat bobbing as inexplicable need passed through him to feel the body pressed up against him again. “The hunt,” he spoke softly. Geralt had left the hunt half complete. Of course he would return for it. Of course he would find a convenient way to get in now that Jaskier had gotten him the info he needed. 

“The hunt?” Geralt repeated, voice a thin veil of anger as those eyes seemed to brighten in their intensity. “That the only reason, Jas? The only reason why you think I’m here?” 

“I don’t…” Jaskier started, getting cut off as Geralt pulled at his hair. 

“You’re such a fucking idiot,” his wolf barked at him, before yanking him forward and against his lips. 

Jaskier moaned into the harsh kiss, opening up immediately to the forceful tongue pushing its way inside. Geralt tasted like ale and meat, and it made him ache to be back on the road with him. To be with him… He kissed back, forgetting the part where he was supposed to be angry yet again with his witcher for being abandoned. He forgot everything besides the way those arms wrapping around him made him feel. 

Geralt pulled away from his now bruised lips, staring down at him in intensity as his emotions seemed to be practically bubbling over. “I don’t give a fuck about the hunt. I didn’t want you to go. Don’t you understand? Don’t you get it by now?” 

He did. He understood. Jaskier had felt the overwhelming blackness that came from being apart from the one he ached for. ...If Geralt cared at all he knew he had at least felt some of that blackness. “Why can’t you say it?” Why couldn’t he just say he missed him? Why couldn’t he just put him out of his misery? 

The witcher frowned at the implication, and Jaskier grunted as he was spun around and forced against the wall, Geralt’s hands covering his as he forced them up above his head. “I can’t wait Jas...not for this.” 

He was about to ask what this was, but he needn’t have bothered as desperate hands came to this strings fastening his very expensive pants. Geralt’s mouth found his neck as those fingers deftly made fast work of the hindering ties. “Do you mind if I take you, Jas?” Geralt breathed against his skin, biting just under his pulse. ‘Do you care if I hurt you?’ Were the words left unspoken between them as Geralt ripped down his pants. 

“No.” He never minded much at all, did he? 

A hand wrapped around him, and Jaskier moaned as he was pumped to full hardness, having already been semi aroused the instant his wolf had pressed him to the wall. He heard rustling behind him, and felt Geralt rub himself between his cheeks, precum wetting the area as that talented mouth lapped at his pulse. 

Jaskier gritted his teeth in pain as the head of Geralt’s cock breached his unprepared entrance. He felt Geralt hesitate before pushing all the way in, opening his eyes to see those yellow pools brimming with concern. “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

But he always did, didn’t he? 

“It’s alright, wolf,” Jaskier assured him. “I missed you too, you know?” Because this was what the urgency was about, wasn’t it? Geralt not being able to speak the words they both knew were lingering between them. ...Geralt not being able to curb his desires at seeing him again.  
Lips were once more pressed to his, swallowing up his cries as Geralt pulled his hips back and pressed into the hilt. Jaskier ignored the pain, focused more on the almost delicate way Geralt kissed him all the way forcing his hips against the wall to give himself a better angle to thrust. The juxtaposition was jarring in his mind as he splayed his fingers to support himself as the white wolf truly began to move inside of him. 

Jaskier was used to the rough and tumble routine from Geralt, and so this came as no surprise. He actually preferred it as he canted his hips back to meet every desperate thrust as the angle shot pleasure straight down to his toes. 

Each thrust brought Jaskier closer and closer to the brink as the hands wrapped around his hips clawed at him in an almost desperate frustration...as if they were still separated...as if Geralt couldn’t get close enough. 

“More…” Jaskier panted, ignoring the warm wetness between his legs at the vigor of the thrusts. Geralt pulled out, growling in need as he spun Jaskier back around, not hesitating in lifting him up so they were face to face and he could push deeper. 

Taking the hint, he wrapped his legs around those muscled hips, practically keening at how deep Geralt’s cock pressed inside him as he desperately fought to get back to those lips while his arms wrapped around his neck. 

“Geralt…” he breathed, eyes locked in the demonic ones of his witcher as his heels dug into the meat of his lower back. “I’m close...I’m…” He was quieted once more as his mouth was claimed, those hips speeding up as they were both lost in the throes of passion. “Geralt!” Jaskier screamed, breaking away from the mouth as he exploded between them. 

He forgot all about where they were. He forgot that Geralt had ripped him into a dark corner of a booming party. He forgot everything beyond the feeling of those strong muscles tightening and a warm wetness filling his insides. 

Geralt set him down, and his entire body shuddered at the feeling of him pulling out. His eyes were shut in bliss as the witcher reached towards him, yanking his pants back up over his thin hips and doing up the ties. ...For propriety's sake he imagined. Though at the moment he couldn’t be bothered to care as he panted in his fucked out bliss. 

“Bard,” Geralt managed, and Jaskier slowly opened his eyes to meet that smiling face. “I missed you.” 

Jaskier felt an exhausted grin spread across his face, his stomach tightening into knots as he could feel his witcher’s desire run down his leg. “How much?” 

“Enough to scale a wall to get in here,” Geralt admitted, voice placating and filled with an almost irritated fondness as his hands found his hips, pulling him off the wall and close. 

“They didn’t actually let you into the party?” Jaskier questioned, eyes half lidded as Geralt’s rough thumbs stroked along his hips. 

“No bard,” Geralt confirmed slowly, amusement in his tone. “They did not let me into the party.” 

“Proving that King Lannamar has standards,” he teased, sighing as his lips were gently kissed. It was hard to wrap his mind around just how deeply he belonged to this man. 

“He has more things than I dare to let him keep,” Geralt assured him. “Including his life if he truly is the culprit.” 

“That’s almost romantic,” Jaskier mused, fingers playing with the combed out white mane. “I didn’t know you had it in you.” 

“Talking about murdering a man is romantic to you?” Geralt questioned. “We really must raise your standards.” 

“No wolf, you wouldn’t want that,” he assured him. “I’d be much less likely then to let you bugger me in an alcove.” 

Geralt’s shoulders shook slightly with laughter. “Well...we can’t very well have that.” 

Jaskier’s face split into a wider smile as he leaned in close for another kiss. “No, we can’t have that…” he breathed, barely an inch from his mouth. 

“Dandelion!” Jaskier’s eyes widened at the sound of the voice, pushing Geralt instinctively away as he looked down at himself and the state of his clothes and the position he had been caught in as the King rushed his way. 

“My Lord, I apologize. I was just saying hi to an old friend.” The cover story was weak, and he knew anyone looking at the both of them could clearly realize what had transpired. Still...he wasn’t really expecting the arm that wrapped around his forearm and yanked him over to the king. 

“The guests heard a cry. I thought you were being murdered back here when I couldn’t find you for the song.” Lannamar frowned as he looked him up and down, before his eyes traveled over to Geralt. “You’re a witcher.” 

“You’re observant,” Geralt countered with, and Jaskier noticed how tight his jawline had become. “Take your hands off him.” 

Lannamar’s eyes shot up his forehead at the bold statement. “I am the king. You can’t talk to me in such a manner.” 

Geralt’s teeth were gritted as he shook his head. “You’re not my king.” Jaskier grunted as the witcher grabbed his other arm and yanked him back towards him. In any other scenario he’d be offended about being treated like a ragdoll being torn between two fighting siblings. As it was, he was just hoping Geralt’s temper didn’t get them both killed. 

“Be that as it may,” Lannamar spoke. “He is employed to sing at this feast. A position that he is currently not fulfilling.” The king glanced his way, shaking his head in disgust. “A witcher, Dandelion? Have you no standards?” Jaskier opened his mouth to reply, but it didn’t seem the king was interested in how his standards were measured. “How did you get in here in the first place? I should have you thrown out.” 

“You could try,” Geralt agreed, nose curling in distaste. “But I wouldn’t recommend it.” He upturned his bandaged hand, motioning to the party. “Shall we head back to the festivities so that the bard can fulfill his obligations?” 

“Why would I let you around my court?” Lannamar questioned, eyes narrowed to slits. “Even if you did try to clean yourself up beyond the brute you actually are.” 

“You shouldn’t,” Geralt agreed. “Yet, I’m going to just the same.” Geralt walked out of the alcove without a second thought, never one to quake in front of any man...not even a king.  
,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoahhhhhhhh Is that an update? I think it may very well be. With all the talk surrounding Season 2, I couldn’t very well let this story die. Hope you enjoyed the new chapter and that my writing wasn’t too rusty. Geralt finally showing a bit of emotion...like a bit...if you squint….


End file.
